From the safety of my platform, I watched as Victor Seraph squared off against the three cultists. My chest tightened with a strange mixture of anticipation and dread.

  Part of me wanted to see the arrogant noble brought low, but another part recognized that his defeat might accelerate whatever horrific ritual the cultists had planned.

  Yet…

  [Victor Seraph, Level 99]

  Regardless of my thoughts, the Seraphic Duke's son stood tall, his posture radiating the insufferable confidence that came from a lifetime of privilege.

  His green eyes swept over his opponents with naked disdain.

  "You lots must be cultists. Am I right?" Victor's voice carried across the platform. “Did your pathetic god not teach you to choose your battles more wisely? You should have surrendered like that girl."

  Varis Steelhand, the powerfully built man with arms that gleamed like polished metal, chuckled at the taunt. At Level 99, he was Victor's equal in rank, if not in breeding.

  "Our lord sees all, Seraph," Varis replied, his voice eerily calm. "Including your inevitable fall."

  The other two cultists – one a rail-thin woman with ritual scars covering her exposed skin, the other a stocky man whose eyes seemed to flicker between normal and solid black – spread out to flank Victor.

  Victor merely smirked and flicked his wrist dismissively. "Three insects against a Seraph? The odds seem... unfair." His eyes narrowed. "To you."

  The platform erupted into motion.

  An ethereal sound spread across the island. The Seraphic Tortoise Shield materialized around Victor – a dome of shimmering earth energy, etched with ancient protective runes that pulsed with power. It wasn't just a barrier; it was a call back to generations of refined noble bloodline, the pinnacle of defensive magic.

  The cultists attacked simultaneously.

  The thin woman hurled orbs of corrupted energy that writhed like living shadows. The stocky man charged forward, dark blades extending from his forearms. Varis hung back, his hands weaving complex patterns as he muttered an incantation.

  All their initial attacks splashed harmlessly against Victor's shield, dissipating into wisps of darkness or sliding off like water on oil.

  "Is that truly the best servants of an Outer God can muster?" Victor taunted from within his impenetrable dome. "My family's hounds put up a better fight during training."

  The shield suddenly pulsed, and dozens of stone shards – each sharp as a dagger – erupted from its surface, shooting outward with lethal precision. The stocky cultist managed to deflect some with his arm-blades, but several pierced his torso. He staggered but remained standing.

  The woman was less fortunate. Three shards caught her in the chest, and one through the throat. She crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath her.

  "One down, so easily," Victor called, his voice laced with boredom. "Who's next?"

  I gripped the edge of my platform tighter. Victor was treating this like a game, unaware of the true stakes. Or perhaps he simply didn't care? Either way, his casual brutality was something to cheer for against these cultists. What if he somehow ends up winning?

  I couldn’t believe I was hoping Victor would win.

  Varis finally completed his incantation, and chaotic energy began to swirl around him – purple and black energy that seemed to distort the very air. "You fight well, Seraph," he acknowledged. "But our purpose extends beyond this petty tournament."

  The stocky cultist, still bleeding from multiple wounds, looked to Varis. "Brother, I offer myself to the Cause."

  Varis smiled and nodded solemnly. "Your sacrifice will be remembered."

  Before Victor could react, the stocky cultist bit down hard on something in his mouth. A crimson glow spread beneath his skin, following his veins like molten lava. He screamed loudly and threw his head back as his muscles began to bulge and twist.

  "What in the seven hells..." Victor muttered, reinforcing his shield as he raised both his hands. He seemed uncomfortable at the sight, disgusted.

  I could understand why.

  The transformation was horrific.

  The cultist's skin split along seams of pulsing red energy. His body stretched and bulged, bones cracking audibly as they reformed. What stood there moments later barely resembled a human – a hulking monstrosity over eight feet tall, with purple-tinged skin stretched tight over grotesquely enlarged muscles.

  The berserker let out a howl that shook the very platform and charged toward Victor's shield. Its first impact sent visible cracks radiating across the dome. Victor's smug expression faltered.

  "Impossible," he snarled, visibly concentrating to reinforce the weakened areas.

  The berserker struck again, and more cracks appeared. Meanwhile, Varis moved in a wide circle, hands weaving complex gestures that sent waves of chaos magic slamming into the shield from another angle.

  Victor was being systematically besieged.

  "Having trouble, Seraph?" Varis called. "Your family's famed defense doesn't seem so impenetrable now."

  Victor's response was to launch another barrage of earth projectiles. These were larger than before – jagged spears of stone that shot through the shield without weakening it. Several impaled the berserker, but the creature barely seemed to notice, continuing its relentless assault.

  The shield was failing. I could see it in the flickering energy, in the way Victor's expression had transformed from confidence to grim perseverance.

  "[Earth Style: Seismic Pulse]!" Victor shouted.

  The platform beneath the berserker erupted, sending chunks of stone smashing into its body. The creature staggered but kept coming. Each blow against the shield sent more cracks spiderwebbing across its surface.

  "It's the corruption," I muttered to myself, understanding dawning. "That thing's fists are coated in the Outer God’s energy. It's not just brute force – it's eating through the shield's magical structure."

  It was a form of [Divinity], no matter how little that berserker could muster. Without it, mere strength wouldn’t have damaged that shield that much.

  Lilian, Solara, and Nebula had gathered just outside my platform’s barrier, watching the battle unfold. "Victor's in trouble," Solara observed. "I've never seen anything break through a Seraphic Shield before."

  Even Ashvarak couldn’t. Although in his defence, he wasn’t targeting the shield most of the fight, and only spared a few seconds on it. But still.

  Lilian snorted. "Couldn't happen to a nicer guy."

  “For once, I agree with you,” Nebula smiled softly.

  I shook my head. "No, this is bad. If the cultists win, they'll use the platform as their final ritual site. I’ll have to fight them there."

  That made Lilian’s expression morph into worry.

  On the platform, the situation was growing desperate. Victor's shield now resembled a cracked eggshell about to shatter. Sweat poured down his face as he poured more mana into maintaining it.

  "Enough of this," he growled. “Enough, I said!”

  The shield suddenly contracted, shrinking to fit Victor's body like armor rather than a dome. With his mobility restored, he dodged the berserker's next attack and counterattacked with a blindingly fast sequence of movements.

  "[Earth Style: Tectonic Guillotine]!"

  The platform split open beneath the berserker, and massive slabs of stone slammed together like a closing mouth, crushing the creature's lower half. The man howled in agony but continued to drag himself forward using his massive arms.

  He wasn’t a human anymore, having lost his sense of self.

  Victor created distance, his hands moving in complex patterns. "[Earth Style: Seraphic Quake]!"

  The entire platform began to tremble. Fissures raced across its surface, and pillars of stone erupted upward. One caught the berserker directly under the chin, snapping its head back with an audible crack.

  The creature twitched and went still. At last, it was dead.

  Victor turned to face Varis, blood trickling from his nose from the mana exertion.

  "And then there was one," he said, breathing heavily.

  Varis regarded him with an unsettling calm. "Impressive, Seraph. Truly. Your bloodline earns its reputation."

  "Save your praise," Victor spat. "I'll not be flattered by a fanatic."

  They clashed in earnest now. Varis hurled chaos magic – writhing tendrils of corrupted energy that sought to drain Victor's life force on contact. Victor countered with precisely formed stone constructs – spears, shields, even animated golems that intercepted the deadly magic.

  It was a battle of opposites. Victor's rigid, disciplined earth magic versus the unpredictable, reality-warping chaos wielded by Varis.

  Each time Victor seemed to gain the upper hand, Varis would distort space or manifest impossible angles of attack.

  The fight stretched on, both combatants showing signs of fatigue. Victor's earth armor had crumbled in places, revealing cuts and bruises beneath. Varis limped slightly, one arm hanging at an awkward angle. His previous match seemed to have earned him injuries.

  "You fight well," Varis admitted, breathing heavily. "Better than we anticipated."

  "I'm a Seraph," Victor replied coldly. "We exceed expectations."

  It said a lot when Victor, of all people, managed to look like a hero. I guess there’s always a bigger villain.

  With a sudden burst of speed, Victor closed the distance between them. A blade of compressed stone formed around his hand as he drove it directly toward Varis's heart.

  Varis made no move to dodge. Instead, he smiled.

  The blade struck true, piercing Varis's chest. Blood bubbled from his lips as he collapsed to his knees.

  "I win," Victor stated flatly.

  "Do you?" Varis wheezed, reaching into his robes with his good hand. My blood ran cold as he produced an all-too-familiar artifact.

  The Crown of Echoes.

  The same crown I had briefly possessed before the cultists stole it from me.

  "No," I whispered, pressing my hands against the barrier separating our platforms. I had a feeling of what he was trying to do. "NO!"

  "O' Lord Xohr'Veskhaa," Varis gasped, blood painting his teeth crimson, "we... your followers... have failed... but the preparations approach completion... I offer you... a host... more worthy... than us fools!"

  The crown pulsed with sickly light in Varis's trembling hands.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  "What nonsense is this?" Victor demanded, taking a step back. It’d have been wiser to smash his head right then, instead. "Your god can't save you now."

  Outside the platforms, chaos erupted. Three robed figures – cultists who had been eliminated in the first round – suddenly convulsed, their bodies arching in impossible angles.

  "The anchors," I realized with horror. "He’s sacrificing the anchors to complete the ritual!"

  The three cultists exploded in showers of blood and raw life energy. The visceral spray didn't fall to the ground but streaked across the arena toward the Crown in Varis's hands.

  Simultaneously, from various points around the colosseum, streams of corrupted energy erupted – remnants of the portals we had discovered in the maze. All converged on the Crown of Echoes, passing through the barrier with ease.

  The android administrator merely observed, making no move to intervene.

  "What is happening? What are you doing?" Victor demanded, his confident facade cracking for the first time as he tried to back away. Was there perhaps some kind of spiritual magic there making him feel fear? Otherwise, it was stupid how he was just standing there and watching!

  "Giving you... the honor... of becoming a god's vessel," Varis whispered, a fanatic's joy lighting his dying eyes.

  Victor suddenly went rigid, as did I. Though from the looks of it, his body had been paralyzed by some invisible force, while I was just shocked.

  The Crown of Echoes, now pulsing with gathered energy, floated from Varis's hands toward Victor.

  The Crown of Echos, among its many uses, had one particular use that struck my head.

  [Echo Chamber – Manifests illusions that mirror the user’s thoughts, memories, or fears. These illusions can be projected outward to confuse, manipulate, or distract foes.]

  Although it seemed harmless from just that, merely an illusion, whatever the cultists had prepared for the last week, across the maze of Nevaramis, seemed to have amplified that. The Crown was the last piece to the puzzle that was crafted.

  The “key” that’d start the engine.

  "No! I am Victor Seraph! Son of the Duke! I will not—" His protests were cut short as Varis's body began to dissolve, melting into the Crown as it settled onto Victor's head, easily phasing through the tortoise shield around his body.

  Varis… Varis was projecting the Outer God into Victor.

  The instant it made contact, Nevaramis itself trembled.

  Pillars of energy blasted out of different parts of Nevaramis. From under the ground. I assumed they must be coming from the many different portals that the cult had set up across the maze. The entire sky went reddish-purple as the otherworldly energy rushed toward the heavens.

  Then, it took a U-turn.

  The converged streams of energy rushed down at us, and it seemed as if the sun was coming down. As if the world were ending. Participants screamed and turned to flee, while a few began to pray. Nothing could stop the pillars of energy, though.

  They crashed into the arena, and all slammed into Victor with violent force. The barrier around his platform shattered as it fell on him. Victor threw his head back, a soul-tearing scream torn from his throat as his own energy visibly clashed with the alien power flooding his being.

  The entire arena screamed in unison at the presence of something insane.

  Then silence fell.

  It was odd how all sound ceased to exist in an instant. No, people were still screaming, but the air was filled with no sound.

  I was breathing heavily. My eyes were locked on Victor, whose body slumped, then slowly straightened. When he lifted his head, his green eyes had been replaced by glowing purple orbs that radiated ancient malice. Parts of his body, including around his eyes, were covered in black tattoos.

  A smile spread across his face, but it wasn't Victor's smile.

  The movement was wrong, too fluid, too inhuman. "Ah... finally..." The voice that emerged from Victor's throat was deeper, resonant, and utterly alien. "So this is… what it feels like... to be contained. Curious."

  The Outer God Xohr'Veskhaa had arrived.

  ****

  The Administrator watched.

  Error_protocol_172/Undefined Situation/Containment Protocol Uncertain.

  The Android's processing matrix fragmented as Victor Seraph's body convulsed beneath the Crown of Echoes, foreign energy coursing through his form. Her systems churned through solutions, calculations, probabilities—none matching any scenario in her programming.

  Error_protocol_172. Error_protocol_172. Error_protocol_172.

  The colosseum trembled.

  Participants scrambled away from the platform where Victor—no, not Victor anymore—stood with eyes like violet voids. The entity inhabiting him flexed its borrowed fingers experimentally, lips curling into something approximating a smile.

  Threat assessment: Catastrophic.

  Island integrity: Compromised.

  Directive conflict: Protect Nevaramis. Determine worthy owner.

  Conflict. Conflict. Conflict.

  The Administrator's metallic face twitched, a fractional glitch no human eye could detect. However, her eyes that spun wildly and her lips that morphed in nervousness were hard to miss. Even so, people were too busy to notice.

  Her creators had not provided parameters for this scenario. The entity within Victor Seraph was not a registered participant. Was not human. Was not—

  "SEND US BACK!" a woman screamed, her voice cutting through the Administrator's cycling protocols. "Send us back to Merasca! We'll all die here!"

  Sudden clarity.

  Solution pathway identified.

  Priority: Remove Nevaramis from immediate danger.

  The Administrator's synthetic features smoothed, a cold smile forming as her systems latched onto this new directive.

  "Attention," her voice boomed across the arena, unnaturally calm amid the panic. "Due to unforeseen circumstances posing significant danger to participants, I am initiating emergency evacuation protocols.”

  “H-Huh?” People looked hopeful.

  “All remaining contestants will be teleported to Merasca immediately,” she said. “The final match between the two remaining contenders will continue there to determine Nevaramis's rightful owner."

  "WAIT!" The only other remaining contender, Cheonma, slammed his fists against the barrier of his platform. "You can't send that thing to Merasca! There are thousands of innocent—"

  "Emergency protocol activated," the Administrator interrupted, raising her metallic hand. "Teleportation commencing in three... two... one..."

  With a snap of her fingers, light enveloped all participants—the possessed Victor, Cheonma, and every other living being in the colosseum.

  In an instant, they vanished.

  Silence fell across the empty arena.

  The Administrator hovered alone, her systems gradually stabilizing as the immediate threat disappeared from her jurisdiction. With a gesture, a shimmering projection materialized before her—Merasca, viewed from above, where panic was already spreading as participants materialized throughout the city.

  In the central plaza, Victor Seraph stood motionless, his body surrounded by a corona of violet energy that expanded with each passing second.

  "Evacuation protocol complete," the Administrator intoned to the empty colosseum. "Nevaramis preservation: successful."

  Error_uncertainty_detected.

  Recalculating long-term survival probability.

  Outcome: Unknown.

  “...Fuck.”

  ****

  Amelia Duskleaf held the fine porcelain teacup between her fingers, appreciating its craftsmanship while finding no pleasure in the expensive blend within.

  The Salt Duke's mansion boasted luxury in every corner. Hand-painted murals, marble flooring that captured sunlight in mesmerizing patterns, and furnishings fit for royalty; you name it. Yet she felt only heaviness in the ornamented chamber.

  Her gaze drifted past the floor-to-ceiling windows to where Nevaramis hovered like an impossible dream above Merasca's central plaza. The legendary floating city gleamed with ancient power, its spires catching the afternoon light in ways that would normally captivate her scholarly mind.

  Today, however, her thoughts circled a different enigma entirely.

  Iskandaar Romani, the boy she first encountered more than a year ago.

  She set down her cup with a soft clink that seemed to echo in the silent room.

  "What game are you playing?" she whispered to herself, replaying memories of the young man who had seemingly saved them all during the Winter Festival.

  The way he'd faced Ashvarak, how he'd protected the elven prince, severed the demon's hold—all of it suggesting heroism, loyalty, even greatness. How he’d said—“Well, you asked me to let him live. How could I not fulfill your wish?”

  Quickly, he’d grown as one of her favorite people in such a short time.

  Yet Ralian Lunewolf's words hung like a specter in her mind.

  "He leads some sort of cult, I don’t know the details. My mother told me," the werewolf had said, her blood-red eyes unflinching. "My daughter serves him with absolute devotion, enough that she lied to her grandmother. But I don't think it's the Outer God cult. At least, I hope not."

  Hope.

  Such a fragile thing to stake the world's safety upon.

  Amelia ran her fingers along the window's edge, the cool glass grounding her in reality. Why hadn't Iskandaar mentioned this cult to her? Why come to Merasca in disguise without informing her, when they had established what seemed like trust? Trust she had extended to him despite her own misgivings, despite her obligation to protect her students.

  Right, his brother was already part of the Outer God Cult before. He’d come to her for a solution for that, and she’d solved it for him. How could he hide that he, Iskandaar Romani, led a cult of his own…?

  "The Heavenly Demon," she murmured, testing the words. Munera let Ralian know about that name, and Amelia learned it from her.

  Cheonma, aka the Demon of Heaven.

  Was it merely an alias, a persona adopted for dramatic effect? Or something more organized, more insidious? A gathering force with unknown intentions?

  Dragons understood patience and long games better than most beings. They lived centuries, planning across generations.

  What if the young man she'd been watching, even nurturing, was playing a game whose board she couldn't even see? The bitter dregs of her tea matched the aftertaste of doubt in her mouth.

  She would have to confront him directly once he returned from Nevaramis. Well, if… he returned. If he was innocent of connection to this Outer God madness, he would need to prove it—and explain exactly what purpose his own cult served.

  Amelia sighed.

  “Well, whatever.”

  She raised her cup for another sip.

  Then, the air suddenly cracked like thunder.

  Amelia's teacup shattered on the floor as she straightened, her draconic senses flaring in immediate alarm. The very fabric of reality seemed to split, releasing waves of chaotic teleportation energy that made the hairs on her neck stand on end. Raw magic, poorly controlled, unleashed across the city.

  Outside the grand window, the sky above the central plaza erupted in dozens upon dozens of flashes of light. Bright, jarring bursts that tore holes in the air itself.

  Bodies materialized in the aftermath, dropping from thin air onto the cobblestones below. Academy students stumbling, adventurers collapsing to their knees, mercenaries looking around with wild, bewildered eyes. All of them appeared simultaneously across the plaza in a mass evacuation unlike anything Amelia had ever witnessed.

  The participants of the Nevaramis trials had returned—no, not returned.

  They had been ejected.

  "By the First Gods," she breathed, her hands pressed against the glass, her senses expanding to assess the magnitude of the disturbance.

  The Nevaramis teleportation arrays were legendary for their precision. This chaotic dumping of humans across Merasca spoke of desperate measures, of emergency protocols activated without proper containment.

  Something had gone catastrophically wrong.

  Amelia scanned the frantic crowd below, looking for familiar faces. She spotted Prince Alaric helping a fallen student, her niece Selthira Duskbane materializing on a rooftop before immediately vanishing into shadow. But where was—

  There.

  In the center of the plaza, a figure stood perfectly still amid the chaos. At first glance, she recognized the impeccable bearing, the muscular frame, the long dark hair; it almost looked like Iskandaar for a moment. But no, the noble posture could only belong to Victor Seraph.

  Iskandaar came here to kill Victor… How is he still alive? On the other hand, she couldn’t see Iskandaar anywhere. Worry flashed through her for a heartbeat before her draconic senses registered the wrongness.

  Victor was surrounded by a corona of violet energy that pulsed with alien rhythms. An aura that wasn't his own, that couldn't belong to any living thing of this world.

  The realization slammed into Amelia with the force of a physical blow, driving the air from her lungs. She staggered back.

  "They… they succeeded," she whispered, the words tasting like ash. "The Outer God—"

  The truth was so horrifying that her mind initially rejected it, scrambling for alternative explanations. But there were none. The cultists hadn't just attempted a summoning; they had succeeded in bringing their deity through, using Victor Seraph—one of the Empire's most powerful noble sons—as its vessel.

  The Nevaramis problem hadn't been contained; it had been dumped directly into Merasca's lap, like a dying star thrown into a populated city.

  Every doubt about Iskandaar, every question about his loyalties, evaporated in the face of immediate catastrophe. Personal concerns were luxuries they no longer had time for.

  With one fluid motion, Amelia stepped onto the ledge of the window, her form already beginning to shimmer with golden light as her draconic blood stirred beneath human skin.

  But before she could leap, a streak of brilliant blue lightning cut through the sky—so fast it left afterimages burned across her vision.

  The Lightning Duke had moved first, his legendary speed living up to its reputation. His massive sword, wreathed in crackling energy, descended toward Victor's neck in what should have been a killing blow.

  It never landed.

  Ten yards from Victor, the sword met resistance. A figure had appeared between them, seemingly from nowhere, catching the blade between bare palms. The impact released a thunderous shockwave that shattered windows throughout the plaza.

  Amelia narrowed her eyes, focusing on the interceptor.

  A man dressed in crimson robes stood with his feet planted firmly on the cobblestones, holding the Lightning Duke's sword at bay. His face bore ritualistic markings, purple veins bulging around his temples as unnatural power coursed through him.

  From their investigation so far, she recognized that man. Archbishop of the Outer God Cult, known as The Red Witness.

  "Our Lord isn't fully here yet, not quite properly stabilized yet," the man said, his voice carrying an unnatural resonance that betrayed connection to darker powers. His lips spread in a grin that stretched too wide for his face. "Don't disturb him yet, mortal."

  The arrogance of calling the 8th Ascension Lightning Duke mortal would have been laughable in any other context.

  Now, it was terrifying.

  Amelia's blood ran cold as more figures materialized around Victor—appearing from shadows, stepping through the air itself, rising from the very stone of the plaza. Cultists. Dozens of them, each radiating corrupted energy that made her draconic senses recoil.

  They had been hiding in Merasca all along, waiting for this moment. Each, at least 7th Ascension strong, with some even stronger, were there to protect their God.

  Amelia had another realization at that moment.

  Today, gods would fall. Either theirs or hers…

  Canonically, Victor looks quite similar to Iskandaar, with long black hair, similar height, and a fine muscular build. Let me know how you’re liking the chapters!!

  Book 4 just started on Patreon! If you want to read the next 10 chapters, the end of Book 3, the start of Book 3, you can visit my Patreon! Don’t forget to check out our Discord too, where you can hang out with us.

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