CHAPTER 637: 637

The Harpies capitalized on the opening. Three dove at once, their wings whipping storms of wind that fanned into arcs of flame. Fire roared across the stag’s body, clashing against the black ichor like oil against water. Another Harpy hovered above, calling lightning down with a shriek that split the night sky. The bolt struck the beast’s spine, convulsing its twisted limbs and sending shockwaves through the swamp.

The serpent-insect swarmed forward again, its new mouths shrieking as they writhed toward the group. The apelings answered with elemental mastery, their bodies moving with impossible speed as they combined strikes. One slammed his hands into the earth, spires of stone lancing upward to pin part of the creature’s length. Another exhaled a burst of flame that ignited the swamp gas, setting the water’s surface alight with sickly green fire. A third swept his arm in a wide arc, summoning a wave of water and then instantly freezing it, locking dozens of snapping maws in blocks of ice that shattered under the serpent’s thrashing.

One of the apelings extended a hand as the vines around swarmed in wrapping and pinning the stag in place.

The final apeling lifted both arms into one a swirling orb of flame. With a shout, he hurled it into the creature’s midsection. The orb detonated like a miniature storm, ripping flesh, scattering ichor, and briefly clearing the mist.

The Mermen surged forward to finish the assault. Their strength unrivaled by any land-born warrior, they heaved their tridents like spears, piercing the serpent’s length and anchoring it in place. Water rose around them at their command, forming massive serpentine whips that crashed down again and again on the abomination. Each strike split its hide open further until black ichor flooded the swamp, staining it darker still.

For a moment, it seemed the godlings were unstoppable, each race’s power flowing seamlessly into the others, fire feeding on wind, lightning striking through water, stone reinforcing strength. Their battle cry thundered across the cursed land, shaking even the mist itself.

And yet...

As the stag collapsed under starfire and flame, its body did not dissolve. The mist clung to it, knitting flesh back together with strands of shadow. From its torn belly, smaller malformed creatures began to crawl, mockeries of deer, wolves, and even men. The serpent, pinned and shredded, writhed with renewed frenzy. Each severed mouth twisted into a new creature, slithering from the corpse like children birthed from nightmare.

The godlings felt the drain of mana heavier now. Even victories demanded payment in this land. Every wound they inflicted bled corruption back into the swamp, feeding the cursed cycle.

One of the Mermen spat in disgust, his trident dripping ichor. "It’s endless. The land itself won’t let them die."

The godlings stood amidst the ruin, their chests heaving, their weapons and claws dripping with unnatural blood. They had won the skirmish, but it did not feel like victory.

Already the mist was thickening again, wrapping around the beasts’ remains. The stag’s body twitched, fresh limbs pushing out of charred wounds. The serpent’s severed heads twitched violently, their snapping jaws crawling toward one another, ready to reassemble.

The werewolf leader snarled, the starlight fading from his hands as he clenched them into fists. "Enough. We could keep this up for hours and the land would only give birth to more filth."

The Harpy commander swooped low, her wings still sparking faintly with lightning. She scanned the forest ahead, eyes narrowing. "If this is what greets us at the border, pressing deeper is suicide. Not without replenishing our strength."

The apelings, silent and disciplined, exchanged tense looks. Their mana reserves were fraying. Even their bodies, built for speed and endurance, felt heavier with every breath they took in this poisoned mist. One of them knelt and pressed a hand to the swampy ground, leaving behind a glowing rune etched in elemental energy. "This will hold for a time. Our mark. We can return here once we are whole again."

They turned to leave, their bodies weary from the battle, their minds strained from resisting the mist. For a time, the swamp dragged at their feet, the vines writhing lazily as if reluctant to let them go. But then, without warning, the air changed.

The acrid stench of rot faded. The oppressive mist thinned. And before them, the cursed land dissolved into something else entirely.

Where twisted trees and writhing vines had been, there now stretched a breathtaking forest bathed in golden light. Sunbeams filtered gently through vibrant canopies, their leaves shimmering in every shade of emerald and jade. Flowers bloomed across the forest floor, glowing faintly with mana-rich pollen. Birds of radiant plumage flitted between the branches, singing soft melodies that soothed even the most frayed nerves. Deer-like creatures with crystalline antlers pranced freely, their movements elegant and pure. The very air seemed alive, thick with mana so pristine it hummed against their skin, tugging at their exhausted cores.

It was temptation incarnate.

The godlings froze, exchanging wary glances. Slowly, they turned to look behind them. The swamp remained as it was, twisted, sickened, groaning under the weight of corruption. The cursed land still writhed and festered, waiting. But ahead lay beauty. Purity. Life.

The duality of it was unnatural. Wrong.

"Do we go in... or do we go back?" a Merman asked, his voice low, though suspicion edged every syllable.

One of the apelings stepped forward, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied the inviting scene. His hand tightened around the haft of his weapon before lowering it slightly. "This isn’t a coincedence. This is Krogan’s formal invitation."

The others stiffened. Their eyes flickered, unease and clarity dawning at once. Of course. It made sense.

But the implication was far more dangerous: if Krogan could twist the cursed land so completely, then he was not merely within it, he stood apart from it, dwelling in a place of his own making. A space carved and hidden, a pocket realm veiled by the corruption outside.

A female Merman lifted her hand, her eyes flashing with cool resolve. With a graceful motion, she summoned a wave of crystalline water that burst outward in a shimmering bubble, enveloping the group. The water washed over them, cleansing ichor and swamp filth from their forms. Flesh wounds healed faintly under its touch, though it was more for dignity than recovery. When the tide receded, the twenty envoys stood once more in their full majesty, wings sleek and sharp, fur brushed and gleaming, scales polished, eyes steady.

They looked every inch the chosen of their peoples, not battered warriors crawling from corruption, but dignified envoys worthy of the mission placed upon them.

Without another word, they stepped forward together.

The golden light deepened as they crossed the threshold, the air thick with pure mana that welcomed and embraced them. The forest ahead shimmered faintly, as though aware of their presence.

And as the last of them crossed over, the border behind them sealed. The cursed land was gone, replaced by Krogan’s domain his pocket dimension, a world too beautiful to be real.

A world that smiled at them even as it swallowed them whole.

As the envoys emerged fully from the shimmering veil, the golden forest parted before them, revealing a figure already waiting. He stood tall, broad-shouldered, and unmistakably humanoidy. His suit, immaculately tailored, gleamed faintly in the warm light, a black tie resting neatly against a crisp white shirt. A cigar smoldered at the corner of his mouth, filling the air with a rich, earthy smoke that somehow didn’t mar the pristine scent of the forest.

Zirikon.

He smiled faintly, his sharp eyes sweeping over the twenty godlings with an ease that bordered on arrogance. Then, in a gesture of disarming courtesy, he placed one hand across his chest and gave a shallow bow.

"Zirikon of the Menagerie of Maw is pleased to make your acquaintance."

The envoys exchanged brief looks, then mirrored his bow, their movements measured and polite. Though tension simmered beneath the surface, all twenty wore faint smiles, acknowledging his civility.

"Please," Zirikon said smoothly, his voice rich and practiced, accompanied by a subtle gesture. "Follow me."

The godlings fell in step, some cautious, others curious. The Harpies glided silently overhead, the Apelings padded forward with sharp eyes scanning their surroundings, the Mermen walked with calm grace, and the Werewolves brought up the rear, their fur bristling faintly though their faces betrayed nothing.

"I have been asked by the King to give you a tour of our home," Zirikon continued as the cigar’s ember flared. His words rolled with an almost theatrical charm, smoke trailing lazily from his lips. "Only after you have seen it for yourselves shall we discuss the purpose of your visit."

One of the Mermen broke the silence, a striking woman whose eyes gleamed like polished pearls. Her voice was gentle yet alluring, carrying the cadence of water rippling over smooth stone. "We are curious indeed. This place" she gestured gracefully to the radiant forest around them "reminds us greatly of our own homes. A place of beauty and balance."