Reading your thoughts on the previous and the one before that, I can’t help but break out in a cold sweat, wondering if the plot is perhaps a bit too predictable.
It feels like something like this has happened before…
Even so, I’m continuously amazed by how much you all enjoy my work.
Now, onto this chapter, please savor it.
Another side
“Well then, shall we begin?”
The Demon Lord had casually, as if stepping out for a quick trip to the convenience store, initiated an event that would decide the fate of this world.
The expressions of those present were grave; this was no matter to be taken lightly.
The Demon Lord, standing at the center of the magic circle, knew he was shouldering the greatest burden of the coming events.
One king had wagered his life for the world’s transformation.
Shedding his usual suit for a heavily armored ceremonial attire, the Demon Lord, free of any discernible tension, stood at the center of the magic circle set up before the main camp and unleashed his immense magic power.
Superior and stronger than any in the Demon Lord’s Army, and above all, possessing a deep love for this nation, the Demon Lord faced this ritual without a hint of fear of a future where his own existence might be absent.
The Emperor of the Empire vowed in his heart not to let such a brave and dignified bearing go to waste.
He issued an instruction to his subordinates.
“Begin,” he said, a simple command, yet its intent was conveyed perfectly.
“As you command,” replied a subordinate curtly, signaling the Court Mages arranged in a circle around the magic circle.
On top of the magic circle, rapidly being infused with the Demon Lord’s corrupted magic, the Court Mage Corps began to draw an even grander magic circle with their own magic.
This magic circle became a lifeline, crawling across the ground, soaring through the air, and channeling the Demon Lord’s magic to their intended destinations.
What was about to begin?
Personnel of the Demon Lord’s Army watched the ritual from a distance, filled with doubt.
Those who understood its meaning prayed for the success of the unfolding events.
The magic crawling along the earth plunged underground, while the magic soaring through the sky touched a single battleship, instantly forming an intricate three-dimensional magic circle.
The magic that had burrowed into the earth began to fill the underground tunnels.
Onto the battlefield, a faint veil of light, reminiscent of an aurora, began to descend, slowly enveloping the unconscious avatar of a god.
It was like a healing light.
A murmur began to rise within the Demon Lord’s Army, as if thinking the divine body would be healed and restored.
However, any such doubts were quickly dispelled.
It was a certain Dark Elf with keen eyesight who noticed it first.
He pointed to a corner of the battlefield and said to his colleague, “Hey, what is that?”
It took a few seconds, or perhaps a few minutes, to realize what it was.
A being, like steam, began to rise slowly, as if a mixture of purple and black.
At first, it seemed as if the ground was cracking open, creating gaps from which it was leaking.
But there were no cracks on the ground.
It was strange steam, seeping out from the ground as if oozing, rather than leaking.
This steam corrupted and defiled the land, expanding its scope.
Centered on the capital of Tris, its influence was so potent that if not for the barrier, it would have seeped into the capital itself.
Outside the capital’s barrier, the land was already contaminated and dyed completely black.
The ones witnessing this scene from a prime vantage point, even as this situation unfolded, were the King of the Undead and likely the First Angel of the Seraphim.
“What is that?” the Seraph asked the King of the Undead.
“It is a curse,” the King of the Undead replied.
A dense curse that would not end well even for an undead, should they touch it.
A curse amplified by the Demon Lord’s magic.
The undead spoke with amusement to the Seraph, explaining that even merely seeing it was dangerous, and touching it would instantly and indiscriminately curse its victim, not by draining their life, but by corrupting it.
“What purpose does it serve to infuse such a curse into this land?” The Seraph hesitated for a moment, then suddenly snapped his gaze back to the ground.
Taking advantage of this fleeting distraction, the King of the Undead attacked without mercy. Yet, the Seraph, sustaining only minor grazes, slipped through the blow.
Then, as if finding it ridiculous, he let out a peal of laughter that echoed through the sky.
He now understood what the Demon Lord’s Army intended.
And so, the First Angel of the Seraphim laughed, amused by the carelessness of the Overgod who had carelessly engaged it.
The veil of light was like gauze.
Saturated with medicine to cover and heal a wound.
And then, the curse, further distilled and concentrated by the Demon Lord’s magic underground, becoming a parasitic poison, touched that gauze.
The beautiful aurora was being defiled.
In an instant, even the magic warships deploying the magic circles were affected, their magic circles being smudged over.
The healing light instantly transformed into a barrier of curse.
It raged, enveloping and corrupting the divine avatar’s body.
The unconscious god’s body had only its own divine resistance as a means to counter it.
However, this resistance had been neutralized by accepting the light of healing.
The light that had been accepted moments ago had instantaneously become a curse, and had been accepted along with the flow.
The god’s avatar was, gradually but surely, being stained with the curse.
If this continued, the curse would completely consume the divine avatar.
But this was merely the beginning.
Observing this progression from above, the First Angel of the Seraphim, while attacking the King of the Undead, questioned him, “Are you going to curse the god, using that god’s body as a starting point?”
The King of the Undead answered the First Angel’s question.
“No,” he replied.
Indeed, it might have been possible to curse the god by tracing the connection from the avatar, which had a connection to the original god.
However, that connection had been severed by the Human King, who was becoming something more than human.
Therefore, even if they cursed *that*, it would not reach the god.
Then, what was the purpose?
The answer would come from the Demon Lord.
The divine avatar, completely eroded, its original form lost, and defiled.
The Demon Lord, as if adding another touch, directed the process.
Even though there was a risk of the curse backflowing and corrupting himself, he calmly transmuted the divine avatar.
From a container for a god, into a substance that cursed a god.
A suitable artifact was needed to curse a god.
What then would be the most optimal material?
What material could be imbued with the necessary resentment, the tenacious persistence that could not be repelled, and the murderous intent to sever a god’s life?
Yes, to depose a god and turn it into a curse.
One might think, “What foolishness, what utter stupidity.”
But in reality, the material was being prepared by themselves, and was now being bound and utilized.
This act of violence against a god – even a slight misstep could result in it cursing and killing everyone involved in its creation, should the god witness it.
“Cast the curse and dig two graves.”
The risk of the curser also being cursed; if the source of the curse was a god, it would undoubtedly be deadly.
However, for now, the god’s interference was impossible, and the one creating the curse was the supreme force of the Demon Lord’s Army.
The strongest, bearing the name of the Demon Lord, possessing the greatest military strength in history.
Insigne Runallos.
This Demon Lord casually transmuted the divine avatar into a curse, as if it were nothing.
It was a potent poison, capable of cursing to death even those who merely perceived it.
In fact, many in the Demon Lord’s Army and the Angelic Army who recognized this curse, but lacked the power to resist it, met a tragic end, coughing up blood and bleeding from their eyes.
“The entire army, withdraw,” the Demon Lord commanded.
Those who obeyed this absolute order, not understanding what was happening, and those who underestimated it, tried to flee the scene as if crawling.
But it was too late.
As the curse meant to curse the god gradually approached completion, it became a potent poison that encroached upon the entire surrounding area.
The earth became defiled, plants withered, water turned murky, and it became a place where no living creature could survive.
Even the barrier bestowed by the god cried out as it was cursed by the god.
The barrier that had repelled the powerful attacks of the Oni King could no longer withstand the thickening, boiling, and murky curse.
The Tower of God, which supported the barrier, was screaming.
The God’s Citadel began to ascend; many angels, attempting to ascend to escape the danger of this place, found themselves unable to do so and fell.
These beings were swallowed by the curse, becoming its sustenance.
Resentment begot resentment, and the curse grew denser and more malevolent.
“Curse the god,” someone said.
“Kill the god,” someone said.
These words echoed from the capital of Tris.
In this world where beings called ghosts existed, souls that should have ascended to heaven in devotion to the god, slipped through the barrier and offered their souls to the curse.
Souls that could not escape the barrier, and were extinguished within it, vanished, leaving behind their final hatred for the god.
Among them were even souls that wished for the Demon Lord’s Army, their enemy, to judge the god.
The Demon Lord heard these words from afar.
He vowed to offer all his strength to end this mad world.
And then, he began the finishing touches.
The radiance of the magic circle where the Demon Lord stood intensified, and correspondingly, the shape of the divine avatar began to change.
Its volume gradually decreased, and the barrier also began to shrink.
As if in proportion to this, the flow of the curse erupting from underground accelerated, being drawn into the shrinking barrier.
The curse rushed into the divine avatar as if competing, and the divine avatar, unable to maintain its colossal form, began to transform into a substance.
Smaller, and smaller, and even smaller.
The giant that once inspired awe was compressed into a sphere about the size of a bowling ball in a short amount of time.
A treasure orb was born, black, exuding a malevolent pressure, and shining with purple flashes.
And then, witnessing its birth, the warships deploying magic circles in the sky, due to their inorganic nature as Golems, were still able to carry out their roles despite being cursed.
They transformed in the air and began their descent.
The warships, arranged to pierce the orb’s six sides evenly, extended walls.
What was born from this was a tower.
No, perhaps it could be called a turret.
The warships, equipped with transformation mechanisms, connected their bodies, utilizing their mass of six ships to form a colossal cannon barrel.
A decisive weapon to pierce the god.
Six warships pierced the ground, their anchors fired to secure the cannon barrel, preventing any sway.
At this point, the Tower of God and the God’s Citadel, realizing the danger of this turret, focused their artillery fire, but it was not easily swayed by ordinary attacks, being born from the Demon Lord’s magic.
The barrier endured the concentrated barrage.
It was not a barrier for defense, but a barrel to further extend the turret.
Magic circles were etched into the barrier, countless patterns appearing and disappearing, drawing magic power from the Demon Lord to fulfill its role.
Numerous attacks converged on the rotating turret, but instead of slowing it down, they only accelerated its rotation.
“That is good,” someone said.
Someone watched this and said so.
The prayers wishing for a hole to be punched through the oppressors’ reign, the history of myths, and the absolute authority of the gods, contributed to the turret’s power.
“The finishing touch,” the Demon Lord said, looking up at the sky. He then poured the majority of the magic he had accumulated into the turret he had created, straining his last reserves of power to deploy the final spell.
“Come now, God, behold. This is the history of us, whom God deemed insignificant and cast aside. Do not think you can easily erase it. This is our pride, our value, and our craving!!”
It was a Transfer Gate spell bestowed by the Moon God.
A gate to the heavens that even the Demon Lord, alone, could not possibly activate.
It could only be activated under extremely limited conditions, once every thousand years for a mere few seconds, for a short duration, by the Demon Lord’s ceremonial attire.
It was a backdoor to the heavens, left behind by the Moon God on the day the sun and moon were separated, for emergencies, and had remained hidden for thousands of years.
Beyond the suddenly opened gate to the heavens, lay the God’s Citadel, and before it, the Sun God.
At an unforeseen timing, the gate to the heavens opened.
Seeing the Sun God beyond it, the Demon Lord, sweating profusely, a smile formed on his lips.
“Finally, I can see you. And I have been waiting for this day.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, he unleashed the curse.
“Die.”
All traces of the smile vanished from the Demon Lord’s face, his hatred transforming into a black flash that consumed everything, aimed at the Sun God.
Another side End
Today’s word:
Endings will come.
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“Pandora Pandemic Panic” – The box of Pandora has been reopened, but we are fighting back with secret bases and various other means!!
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