The Guardian gods-Chapter 567

Kaelen paced, his brow furrowed in concentration. "And the mages out there... they’re nearing their breaking point. Even Sixth-Tiers can’t withstand this mental assault indefinitely. We buy them a few hours of uneasy rest each day, only for it to escalate the next night." He stopped, turning sharply to Rattan. "But have you noticed, Nixbolt? The demons out there. They don’t suffer this. They wade through that psychic miasma as if it’s the air they breathe. No mental fatigue, no shattered minds. Why?"

Rattan, still leaning against the crate, offered a weary shrug. "It stands to reason, doesn’t it? They’re from the Abyss. Perhaps they’re immune, or perhaps they’re simply... too far gone to be affected."

"Too far gone, or perhaps perfectly attuned," Kaelen countered, a new light entering his eyes. "Think about it. We’re fighting a ’corruption’ that changes iron into flesh. It fundamentally alters reality. But it only seems to harm us. To the demons, it’s just... home. This psychic onslaught, the very ’corruption’ we’re fighting, it’s likely just the Abyss’s way of preparing the land for assimilation."

He began to gesticulate, his pacing quickening. "We’ve observed how the corrupted ground shifts, how it almost welcomes the abyssal energies. It doesn’t fight back; it absorbs. It’s like the Abyss is a living, cancerous entity, and this psychic attack isn’t just a weapon, but a digestive process. It softens up the reality, breaks down our resistance, makes the land, and perhaps even its inhabitants, ready to be subsumed."

Rattan’s blank expression finally began to shift, a flicker of his old intellectual fire replacing the despair. "You’re saying... it’s not trying to destroy us, not entirely. It’s trying to convert us? To merge with us, and everything around us?"

"Precisely," Kaelen affirmed, a grim determination setting his jaw. "If the Abyss is ready to welcome anything into its fold, ready to merge, ready to corrupt to its very essence... then perhaps the answer isn’t to fight it. Perhaps the answer is to partially become it ourselves."

Rattan pushed off the crate, his eyes widening in disbelief. "What? Kaelen, are you insane? ’Partially become it’? That’s not a solution, that’s surrender! That’s succumbing to the very corruption we’re fighting to stop!"

"No, hear me out," Kaelen pressed, undeterred by Rattan’s outrage. "Not full assimilation. We can’t become demons. But what if we focus on protecting our minds, our very essences of being, from the corruption, while allowing our physical forms, or perhaps specialized constructs, to adapt to its influence? If the Abyss wants to merge, perhaps we can merge just enough to navigate its internal logic, to move through its psychic attacks unimpeded, while safeguarding what truly makes us us."

Rattan threw his hands up in exasperation. "Safeguarding our essence while letting our bodies become... whatever that iron-flesh monstrosity was? That’s a pact with madness, Kaelen! That’s walking the line to becoming the very thing we despise! There’s no coming back from that, no ’partial’ corruption!"

Kaelen held his gaze, his expression grimly resolute. "We’re already walking the line of total defeat, Rattan. If we can’t fight it head-on, if we can’t purify it... then what other choice do we have but to understand it, and use its own nature against it? We don’t need to defeat the Abyss entirely; we just need to survive its embrace long enough to cut its influence."

Rattan looked from Kaelen’s intense gaze back to the glowing light above. The idea was abhorrent, a betrayal of everything they stood for. Yet, the relentless THUMMM! from outside the tent was a constant, terrifying reminder of their dwindling options.

Rattan pushed away from the crate, the desperate fanaticism in Kaelen’s eyes unsettling him. He had no power to stop this, not here, not now. His expertise lay in Magitech, not in navigating the treacherous currents of extreme magical theory or the Empire’s rigid hierarchy.

"Take it up with them, Kaelen," Rattan said, his voice laced with a bitter resignation. "Go propose your ’partial merge’ to Vellok and the emperor, to the Arch-Mages. See if they accept transforming their soldiers, their very essence, into something that walks the line of abyssal corruption. See if they accept turning our forces into... hybrids." He gestured vaguely towards the fort walls, the rhythmic THUMMM! from the psychic attacks a constant reminder of their dire straits. "It’s your idea. You convince them."

Kaelen wasn’t at all surprised by Rattan’s explosive reaction. Proposing such a radical shift, especially one that bordered on the abhorrent, would naturally elicit a strong response. He didn’t mind; he himself had undergone a similar, transformative process to achieve his current Sixth-Tier status, pushing beyond conventional limits.

As for proposing the idea to Vellok and the other Sixth-Tier Mages, Kaelen held a grim certainty: they would accept. The relentless, escalating pressure from the Abyss, the visible toll on their most powerful mages, the unyielding psychic attacks—all pointed to an inevitable, crushing defeat if they continued on their current path. The Empire, facing such a critical juncture, could not afford a loss, and its leaders were desperate enough to countenance almost any means to secure a win. They needed a victory, and they were prepared to do whatever it took to achieve it.

With that conviction firm in his mind, Kaelen immediately set about writing his report. He meticulously detailed his research into the Abyss’s corruption, explaining its unique nature as an assimilative force rather than purely destructive. He laid out his controversial new proposition: a partial adaptation to the Abyss’s energies, focusing on protecting their minds and essences while allowing some physical or magitech integration.

He included a crucial point for the Empire to consider: their previous experience with the Ratfolk, who had famously devoured demon flesh to gain monstrous strength. While different in scale and nature, that historical precedent offered a potential framework. He hoped their institutional knowledge could provide insights, helping him refine his ideas and identify any overlooked pitfalls.

Once the missive was complete, Kaelen immediately summoned Gorok, a trusted messenger, entrusting him with the urgent delivery. Alone in the tent once more, Kaelen turned his attention back to the flickering light, waiting for Rattan to return. While they awaited the Empire’s answer, they had to focus all their intellectual might on the most critical problem: devising a method to preserve their own minds and the very essence of their being, should the unthinkable proposal be accepted. This was a gamble, but for Kaelen, it was the only path forward.

On Vorenza’s side of the Abyss, the demons were undeniably gaining ground. The constant psychic assault emanating from their domain was a significant boon, relentlessly eroding the enemy’s resolve, leaving them weaker, their minds unfocused, and their battle formations ragged.

However, despite their clear advantage, the demons weren’t achieving victory as swiftly or decisively as their generals desired. Their primary frustration stemmed from the Empire’s relentless adaptability. Every time the demonic strategists devised a countermeasure to the Empire’s current tactics, the enemy would frustratingly change their approach, often coming up with something entirely new and unexpected. This constant shifting of strategies forced the demons into a perpetual state of reaction, hindering a swift, overwhelming victory.

This volatile tactical dance came with a steep cost. Even a Fifth-Tier Demon had recently been lost to one of these unpredictable shifts. While it was certainly "fun" for the demon generals to devise new countermeasures and engage in this complex game of strategy, suffering such significant losses, especially when the enemy was, maddeningly, still drawing closer to the Abyss’s maw, was anything but enjoyable.

A chilling, resonant voice echoed directly into the minds of the demon generals: "Prepare to carry out an attack tomorrow night." Just as abruptly as it arrived, Vorenza’s presence vanished, leaving behind a profound apprehension. The generals exchanged uneasy glances, but they knew better than to question their Overlord’s commands.

Meanwhile, cloistered within her shadowy chambers, Vorenza herself appeared more composed than she had in months. The lingering backlash from manipulating multiple concepts was still a dull throb in her essence, but a newfound resolve hardened her features. She believed she could now contend with a single Sixth-Tier Mage, perhaps one not as formidable as Gurnak, whom she had battled previously. Not all Sixth-Tier beings possessed the unique conceptual strengths that Gurnak wielded, a fact that bolstered her confidence.

Her true assurance, however, stemmed from a carefully positioned chess piece a pawn she intended to bring into contact with a potential "ally." She hoped it would indeed be an ally, as so far, their interests seemed to align against a common foe. Vorenza was not so naive as to expect formal cooperation; she wasn’t planning on politely asking for assistance. Desperation was a potent fuel, and she was ready to employ any means necessary to bend the unfolding conflict to her will.

First thing, Rattan did after leaving Kaelen’s tent was to head for his own, seeking a well-needed rest. He’d had enough of the abyss and war for now. His life had no trajectory; he was lost, seemingly just getting by day to day. His guardian, who he expected to have done something to change his circumstances, hadn’t moved yet. Every day was torture for Rattan as he had to face his own mind and consciousness, with nothing to do and no goal in sight.

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