The Guardian gods-Chapter 565

He stretched, feeling the immense energy coursing through his veins, the cosmic hum of his new domain resonating within him. Then, he sensed her. A faint ripple in the ambient magic, distinct from the moon’s own energies, indicated a foreign presence. His sight unimpeded easily pierced the remaining veils of the curse. He saw Elara, the mage from the observatory, finally taking a tentative step onto the lunar surface.

She moved with an almost comical caution, her specialized boots crunching softly on what still appeared to her as barren dust. Her instruments were clutched tightly in her gloved hands, their soft hum barely audible in the vacuum. She was headed directly for the massive, obsidian spire that housed one of his eyes, her focus narrowed, a mix of apprehension and scientific curiosity etched on her face.

To her, the spire was an anomaly, an alien rock formation. The vibrant, glowing flora she was stepping past, the fresh, breathable air she was inhaling – all of it remained perfectly invisible, a testament to the curse’s maddening efficacy. Even his own towering presence, now that he had re-materialized, was nothing more than a distortion in her peripheral vision, a trick of the light, if she saw it at all.

A playful glint entered Ikenga’s ancient eyes. Messing with mortals was a rare pleasure, and this one, so utterly disoriented by his silent magic, presented a unique opportunity. He didn’t want to harm her, not yet. He simply wanted to mess with her.

With a subtle flex of his will, a patch of the obsidian ground directly in front of Elara suddenly undulated. The seemingly solid rock rippled like water, then briefly bubbled into a grotesque, eye-like bulge before settling back into its inert state. Then, a soft, almost imperceptible whisper, carried on the newly created lunar winds, brushed past her ear, speaking a single, guttural word in her people tongue: "Beware."

Elara froze. Her head snapped towards the shimmering ground, then whipped around wildly, her eyes wide with terror. The whisper, though faint, had been undeniable, and the ground... it had moved. Her breath hitched, ragged in her rebreather. Every instinct screamed at her. This wasn’t just elemental fluctuation; this was conscious, malevolent, unseen power.

Without another thought for her mission or her instruments, she scrambled backward, tripping once before regaining her footing. Her caution abandoned, she ran, propelled by raw, primal fear, back towards the distant, illuminated safety of her observatory. Ikenga watched her retreating figure, a soft, satisfied smile playing on his lips. The game had just begun.

Elara scrambled back towards the distant gleam of her observatory, panic thrumming in her veins. Her initial run became a desperate sprint, but the moon, seemingly inert moments before, now conspired against her. Just as her hand reached for the airlock hatch, the solid metal seemed to ripple and distort, shimmering like heat haze on a desert road. Her fingers phased through it, finding no purchase. She slammed her palm against it again, harder, but it remained stubbornly intangible.

Frantic, she backed away, spinning around to face the moonscape, her eyes wide. The familiar, barren surface now seemed to shift in her peripheral vision. The towering plant previously hundreds of meters away, suddenly seemed impossibly close, its unblinking pupil looming over her. She spun again, and it was gone, replaced by a smooth, featureless plain. The whispers returned, a cacophony of unintelligible sounds that seemed to emanate from the very air she breathed, pressing in on her, echoing the growing madness in her mind.

Elara shrieked, a raw, terrified sound muffled by her helmet. She tried to re-engage her comms, but the signal was nothing but static, laced with those maddening whispers. Her instruments, usually reliable, flickered wildly, displaying nonsense readings. The elemental surges she’d been detecting now felt like palpable waves, washing over her, freezing her one moment, burning her the next, despite the regulated temperature of her suit. She stumbled, falling to her knees, clutching her head, as if she could physically block out the overwhelming sensory assault.

Ikenga watched from his unseen vantage, a faint, almost imperceptible chuckle rippling through the moon’s core. He reveled in the mage’s disarray, pushing the boundaries of his curse. He made the ground beneath her feet feel like shifting sand, then solid ice, then scalding coals. He twisted her perception of distance, making the observatory seem miles away one moment, inches the next. He allowed her fleeting glimpses of the moon’s true, vibrant nature – a flash of an energy vine, the shimmer of crystalline flora – only for them to vanish the instant she tried to focus on them, convinced she was hallucinating.

He played with her for what felt like an eternity, though in reality, only minutes passed. He watched as her terror slowly gave way to a desperate, unhinged defiance, then finally, to a profound, broken despair. Her body began to tremble uncontrollably, tears streaming down her face within her helmet. She was no longer trying to reach the observatory; she was simply trying to comprehend a reality that had shattered around her.

Having sated his amusement, Ikenga withdrew his direct influence. The moon’s distortions immediately ceased. The airlock materialized, solid and unyielding. The whispers faded, and her instruments, though still slightly erratic, began to return coherent readings. Elara, collapsing against the cold metal of the hatch, hyperventilated, her mind reeling from the impossible assault. She clawed at the airlock, fumbling with the controls, desperate to escape the place that had so thoroughly broken her sanity.

Ikenga, now fully content, felt the profound satisfaction of a god having completed a monumental task. The moon, his grand creation, had settled into a steady, harmonious rhythm. Its bizarre, beautiful nature, infused with elemental energies and subtle curses, was now self-sustaining, its conditions destined to improve with each orbital circulation.

As a soft hum resonated from the lunar surface, a portal shimmered into existence behind Ikenga, its edges swirling with familiar green light. Without hesitation, he allowed himself to fall backward into its depths, surrendering to the instantaneous transport.

He landed with his feet firmly on the corrupted ground of the goblin world, the portal having opened directly in the sky above the Abyss. He took a deep breath, the familiar stench of ozone and flesh and blood filling his senses, a stark contrast to the sterile freshness of his newly cultivated moon.

He surveyed his surroundings. Low-tier demons still poured from the gaping maw of the Abyss portal in endless streams, a grim river of chaos. But something was distinctly different. The corruption, the very taint of the Abyss, had spread as far as the eye could see, consuming the landscape. It was clear that Zarvok hadn’t been idle in Ikenga’s absence; he had pressed relentlessly, tightening his chokehold on the Empire’s neck. And by the pervasive signs of recent, furious magical conflict scarring the land, it seemed the Empire, in turn, was pressing back with equal ferocity.

Almost immediately, Ikenga felt three powerful consciousnesses lock onto him. These weren’t the aimless, panicked probes of the mage on the moon. These were the sharp, deliberate focuses of high-tier mages, their attention immediate and precise. A faint smile touched Ikenga’s lips. It seemed the Empire had learned its lesson; they wouldn’t make the same mistake again, leaving one critical flank of their battlefield unchecked. His presence had been detected, and he was now officially a variable in their brutal equation.

Ignoring the looming threat, Ikenga turned and walked towards the swirling depths of the Abyss portal. His mind was already elsewhere, focused on a more personal reunion. He was eager to see Keles and, more importantly, to check on their unborn child. He had promised to be deeply involved in the growth of this new life, a commitment he fully intended to fulfill. The battles outside could wait; his family came first.

Across the brutal expanse of the battlefield, on Vorenza’s side, the past few months had wrought dramatic changes. The lands that Kaelen and his army had valiantly reclaimed from the corruption were now far more extensive.

However, the sight of Kaelen’s forces was starkly different from their brisk, resolute appearance months prior. Now, they looked profoundly worn out, an almost insane glint in their eyes, mirroring the endless grind of combat. Their armor, once meticulously maintained, was neglected, stained with layers of fresh and dried blood. Their numbers had dwindled significantly, a grim indicator of the fierce resistance they faced. Yet, the Empire, recognizing the crucial progress being made, had been steadily sending reinforcements, pouring more lives into the meat grinder.

Even the formidable Sixth-Tier Mages were no longer content to observe from aloof positions amongst the clouds. The intelligence, or perhaps sheer terror, from what had transpired on Zarvok’s side of the front had instilled a newfound caution within the Empire’s command. Direct involvement was deemed necessary. The presence of these high-tier mages on the front lines brought a much-needed boost to morale and courage among the beleaguered troops.

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