CHAPTER 44: CREATION.

Hours later, just before sunrise, the meeting had finally ended with all members present: Allen, Kelion, Amaterasu, Cealen, Maxen, Natasha, Elara, Tasha, Lilitu, and Thalvron, all seated around the usual table—but only after a proper cleaning from the mess Kelion had left in Isabell. She was now upstairs in Kelion’s room, legs still parted, trying not to cause herself more pain until she healed.

The meeting unfolded with layer upon layer of stakes revealed—each one heavier than the last—concerning the army Hadas was creating and the plan Allen had read, though perhaps not in its entirety.

Questions flew from all sides of the table and were answered accordingly. Even Kelion had to voice his complaint about the resources and shelter the werewolves would require to survive—something he hadn’t considered when insisting they be brought into the clan, most likely blinded by his latest "expansion project," Isabell.

Allen, however, had simply replied that the matter should be left to him. Beyond that, concrete plans were laid regarding the doom of Hadas—a doom that had not yet struck, but certainly would soon descend upon all within the walls.

This time, according to the preparations, it would not only be those present at the meeting on the frontlines. All elves would be involved—especially those under Elder Garric and Cealen’s command.

Allen had explained that each of the roughly five hundred goblins was as strong as Pyraegon—the demon personality of Zarynth—judging from the infused blood Hadas had given them.

It was going to be brutal. Hearts already pounded in anticipation. Plans were set, but for now, Allen’s first assignment was the werewolves.

---

Elsewhere, Allen and his companions had reached the werewolves’ territory within the walls. The rectangular walls enclosing them made the place look starkly different, and the werewolves themselves wandered aimlessly. The only change in their eyes—compared to when they had lived under Lykos’s command—was the absence of terror.

"Let’s get to work," Allen smirked, his voice carrying a mix of pity and purpose.

"What kind of work exactly? All you said was that you’d handle the werewolves’ resources," Natasha pressed from behind, her eyes scanning the suffering among the werewolves. Still, the saying a beggar has no choice kept them all seated patiently.

"Just follow me," Allen replied, smirking again as he strolled into the clan’s center, stopping in an empty space.

"Activate system ability: Black Tongue," he whispered.

[System ability: Black Tongue has been activated]

[Give a command]

"Create," Allen said softly—for the first time uttering that cursed word.

[Command received. Level for forbidden word activated]

[Creation style?]

[Warning: forbidden words are God-ranked. Using them allows only three uses per day.]

"Only three chances," Allen muttered, calculations already forming in his mind.

"You two," he called to Elara and Natasha, "clear the area. Move the goblins to the walls."

"Yes, my lord," they both smirked, immediately setting to work, respectfully guiding all goblins to the edges—even supporting some who struggled to walk.

Tasha remained absent, still sleeping in the Water Healing Clan, while Lilitu and Thalvron were held indoors by the blazing sun.

When the center was cleared, Allen began visualizing his creation. The system registered each detail as he built it in his mind, drafting it like an architect of the heart.

[Executing creation structures]

It began.

From the grass, huts began to form—dozens of them—arranged neatly across the terrain. They appeared as if they had always been there, their forms revealed from base to peak like an unfolding animation: wooden floors, side windows, front doors, ceilings, and finally, thatched roofs—each hut wide enough to comfortably house three werewolves.

In seconds, the barren terrain had transformed into a miniature village within the clan. And this was only the beginning.

From afar, Natasha and Elara’s widened eyes said everything.

"Lord Allen, that was awesome," Natasha said, reaching him.

"Yeah... which god’s ass did you copy that from?" Elara teased, bumping his shoulder as her chest bounced with the motion.

"But we’re not done," Allen smirked, scanning the terrain. He spotted a table near the far wall. "Let’s go there."

At the table, Allen whispered again, "Create."

[Creation structure?]

He visualized his next creation, and soon, stacks of plucked chicken carcasses lay piled high on the table. Lifeless, yes—he wasn’t a god who could grant souls—but fresh, as if just slaughtered, feathers already gone.

[Note: You have one more chance before Create is banned for today.]

"You never cease to amaze me, young man. Do your parents know you’re a magician now?" Elara teased, baffled as she touched the meat—raw, fresh, and undeniably real.

Allen chuckled, but beneath the laughter he commanded, "Gather the werewolves and feed them—one each."

"Where are you going?" Natasha asked, noticing the decisive steps he was taking.

"To execute my last creation," he replied, smirking as he left.

At a desolate corner of the terrain, Allen paused. This place should be perfect, he thought. Then: "Create."

A stream formed at his command, settling into a pond-like body of still water. "I’ll see if I can connect this to another stream," Allen murmured, noting the limitation of stagnant water.

For now, at least, he was done here. But Hadas still sat heavy in his mind like a burden.

Amaterasu and the other elders are already executing the defense plan. Next, I’ll join them. We have limited time, he thought.

Life buzzed within the walls. Werewolves devoured their meals like starving beasts and drank deeply—all because of Allen’s words.

But elsewhere—somewhere far more divine—someone was not pleased.

Zeus.

Seated at the peak of Mount Olympus with Hera, goddess of marriage and his own wife.

Divine brilliance shimmered over the lightning god’s domain as he watched Allen perform acts only gods—and not just any god, but he—should be capable of.

Zeus had been watching all along: every fight, every victory, even Hadas’s schemes. But among them all, Allen’s recent display struck him the hardest.

"This boy is crossing his boundaries," Zeus muttered, anger sharpening his voice as the clouds over Olympus rumbled with lightning.

"Don’t let mortals get into your head," Hera smirked, taking his arm gently as he sat on his throne—not of gold or silver, but the very bones of Titans.

"More of this," Zeus growled, "and I promise you—I’ll send that Allen boy to the hell he belongs in."