CHAPTER 427: CH 427: WAR IS COMING - PART 1

The hall of the gods was cloaked in a solemn silence.

Dim light filtered through divine crystal, casting long shadows over the grand altar where a cluster of divine fragments lay—remnants of the gods who had fallen in the war against the mortal realm.

At the head of the altar stood the Chief God, a towering figure swathed in golden light, his features hidden beneath a gleaming veil of divine radiance.

With his staff grounded before him, he whispered the final rites in the ancient tongue.

The divine language echoed through the chamber like a fading heartbeat, drawing a reverent silence from the gathered gods.

Each of the remaining deities had lowered their heads in mourning—except one.

The God of Wind, a tall and sharp-featured deity with fluttering robes that shimmered like moving clouds, looked up with thinly veiled frustration.

"How long must we hide in this manner, Chief? Half of us are dead. And at this rate, the rest will follow. Are we gods, or are we cowards now?"

The words drew a scoff from the God of War, a bronze-skinned deity clad in crimson armor, his eyes like burning coals.

"The ones who died were weak. Pathetic. Their deaths mean nothing. We—those who remain—are the true gods. We will endure."

He said with disdain.

The God of Wind snapped his head toward the other.

"That attitude of yours will get you killed next."

"Say that again."

The God of War growled, stepping forward with crackling flames igniting around him.

"Gladly. You think your brute force will save you? You’re nothing but an arrogant relic of old glory!"

Wind said, his own aura flaring in defiance.

Before their powers could clash, an overwhelming force pressed down upon them. A divine weight so crushing it brought both to their knees.

The air trembled as Goddess Lucia emerged from the shadows, her silver hair drifting like moonlight, her pale gaze cool and unreadable.

Her divine mana surged through the chamber, bending space itself and pinning both gods in place.

Neither War nor Wind could move. Their eyes, once defiant, now turned toward her in stunned submission.

"Enough! You squabble like children while the world burns. If War is so confident in his strength..."

He turned to the kneeling god.

"...then he may be the next to descend."

The Chief God said at last, his voice ringing with quiet authority.

The God of War straightened immediately, pushing against Lucia’s pressure with raw force until he could finally move.

"Finally! It’s my turn to show the mortals what real divine power looks like."

He roared.

With that, he strode out of the chamber, cackling with anticipation.

The God of Wind sighed, his expression tight.

"He’ll get himself killed. Or worse... he’ll draw the attention of that one again."

The Chief God said nothing, only raised a hand.

"Return to your chambers. All of you."

One by one, the remaining gods left the mourning hall, their footsteps echoing with both dread and reverence.

Lucia, the last to leave, made her way quietly through the divine corridor. The moment she stepped into her own quarters, the strength in her limbs gave out.

She collapsed onto the floor, her body drenched in sweat, her breath ragged.

The divine pressure she’d exerted to hold down two gods had not come without cost. It had been growing harder lately—harder to keep the veil up, harder to keep the act going.

Her head pounded.

The headache was coming again.

"No... not now."

She whispered, clutching her head.

But the pain surged through her skull like knives of fire.

Her vision blurred, the elegant white walls of her room twisting, warping—turning into something darker.

She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to her knees, dragging herself across the floor to reach the edge of her divine basin. She splashed the cold water onto her face, hoping it would help.

It didn’t.

The voice returned.

That voice.

The one she’d been hearing for months now.

"They don’t know, do they?"

"You’re not really on their side."

"Why do you keep pretending, Lucia?"

"No...I am still... me. I am still..."

She whispered.

The whispers laughed.

Her reflection rippled in the water.

It was no longer her face.

It was his.

The mortal’s.

The one who was undoing their world with every move.

Kyle Armstrong.

Lucia stared at the twisted reflection, her breath catching in her throat.

"I... I must warn him...Before... before I forget who I am."

She whispered.

But even as she said it, her hands trembled.

Because deep inside, part of her no longer wanted to.

Lucia clutched the edge of the basin, her fingernails cracking against the marble as she fought to keep her slipping thoughts intact.

The whispers in her mind were growing louder—faster—smothering her every breath. Shadows danced along the edges of her vision, each carrying fragments of memories that didn’t belong to her.

She didn’t have much time left.

With trembling hands, she etched a sigil into the air—an ancient divine spell meant only for emergencies.

It shimmered with unstable golden light, sputtering like a dying flame. Her mana surged violently as she poured everything she had into it—her will, her fear, her fading clarity.

"Kyle...You need to know... he’s coming..."

She whispered, voice cracking.

The light sparked once—twice—then darted out of the room, vanishing through the divine realms toward the mortal plane.

Lucia collapsed onto the cold floor, gasping. Her vision went dark. Her consciousness shattered, swallowed by the whispering void.

She didn’t even feel herself falling asleep.

Somewhere far below, in the quiet mortal world, Kyle stirred in his sleep.

The inn room was silent except for the faint rustle of leaves outside and the rhythmic breath of Silvy asleep beside the window.

Kyle’s brow furrowed as a strange pressure tugged at his chest—a wave of mana, ancient and familiar. Foreign, yet unmistakably divine.

He opened his eyes halfway, wariness flickering in them.

It wasn’t hostile.

Not exactly.

It was calling to him. Whispering. Urging.

A voice not unlike the one he’d heard once before—soft, feminine... desperate.

Kyle didn’t let his guard down. He gathered his mana subtly, layering protective wards over his mind before allowing the pull to take effect.

The room faded away, the air thickening as the world around him turned silver-gray.

He stepped into a dream—not his own.

Mist swirled around him as he found himself standing in a broken divine chamber. Moonlight filtered in from cracks in the high ceilings. At the center knelt a figure, slumped forward, breathing heavily.

Her hair pooled around her like liquid starlight.

Lucia.

But not as a goddess. She looked... human. Fragile.

Her lips moved without sound. Her eyes were clouded, unfocused, like someone trapped between two realms.

Kyle approached cautiously, his expression unreadable.

Her lips trembled as she forced a whisper.

"He’s coming..."

The air around her twisted violently, mana spiking.

Kyle narrowed his eyes.

"Who?"

Her body convulsed, and the dream began to collapse—walls cracking, light breaking apart. Her voice barely made it through as her form flickered like a dying candle.

"God... of... war..."

And then, she vanished.

The dream shattered and Kyle was alone once more. She could only clutch the remains of mana in his hand.