Chapter 120: Fall of Damascus
In the high-altitude void above the Hudeii Desert, time seemed to crawl for the God of Misfortune.
Damascus was in deep, frantic thought.
He remembered the grueling political drama back in the Heavens.
The endless, exhausting tug-of-war between the divine pantheons, the oppressive oversight of the Higher Factions, and the unbearable stillness of the upper realms.
For centuries, he had waited.
He had plotted, calculated, and manipulated mortal zealots from afar just to catch a single, precious opening to bypass the Laws of Existence.
When the spatial array in Norona finally triggered, he thought he had won.
He had finally secured his doorway to the mortal plane.
He was supposed to conquer this mediocre desert, harvest its latent variables, and pave a smooth, glorious path toward ascending to a King-tier True God.
It was supposed to be a joyous triumph.
And now... this.
A fake.
An absolute anomaly.
A nameless, unregistered divine entity interfering with his descent and turning his long-awaited moment of glory into a nightmare.
Unadulterated rage boiled in Damascus’s chest.
He wanted nothing more than to tear this gray-haired bastard limb from limb and scatter his soul across the ten continents.
Yet, beneath that divine fury, a cold, sickening horror paralyzed his soul.
He was scared.
For the first time since his ascension, Damascus felt genuine, mortal terror.
He knew the absolute consequences if this mortal vessel were to be destroyed while his consciousness was anchored to it.
His true, colossal body hibernating in the higher realms would suffer a catastrophic backlash.
His divine sea would rupture, violently plunging his main body into an unyielding, helpless slumber for centuries.
He would be left completely defenseless on the cosmic chessboard, a sitting duck for his enemies in the Death Faction.
He had only two choices: flee back through the spatial tear, or kill this monster right here.
Damascus glanced down.
Roy’s cold, gold-flecked irises were locked onto him with the absolute, unyielding intent of an apex predator.
There was no room for flight.
The fake was determined to execute him.
Escape was an illusion.
’I only have one option left,’ Damascus growled inwardly, his gray hair whipping madly in the wind as his eyes burned with desperate, bloodthirsty resolve.
’I kill this bastard right now... or I die trying!’
****
Damascus staggered back, his boots dragging through the sky.
His mind was a chaotic vortex of panic, rage, and disbelief, completely overwhelmed by the terrifying existence standing before him.
His heart raced fervently.
But he braced himself for war.
"Die, you miserable anomaly!" Damascus shrieked, throwing every remaining thread of his divine pride into a final, suicidal assault.
He ignited his entire reservoir of conceptual authority, diving straight down like a purple meteor.
He lunged forward with both hands extended, his claws aimed directly at Roy’s chest, intending to rip the False God’s soul straight out of his ribcage.
Roy didn’t dodge.
He didn’t even raise a weapon.
He simply opened his mouth and let out a low, terrifying exhale.
Innate Authority Of Gluttony
An invisible, bottomless maw opened in the fabric of space.
CHOMP.
Damascus’s shriek cut off instantly. Before his hands could touch Roy’s chest, the space around his arms distorted.
And both of his freshly regenerated limbs were completely severed, instantly swallowed into an absolute void.
"Ahhhhh!" Damascus screamed, but before he could even process the loss, the unseen maw snapped shut a second time.
CHOMP.
Both of Damascus’s legs were cleanly erased from the thighs down.
The God of Misfortune dropped like a stone, his armless, legless torso suspended in mid-air only by the frantic, chaotic pulsing of his dying energy.
Then came the true horror.
Damascus felt a violent, vacuum-like suction tearing at his very soul origin.
His vast, ancient Divine Essence wasn’t just leaking—it was being rapidly drained, siphoned, and devouring at a speed that defied all universal logic.
His divine aura flickered out like a dying candle flame.
He was weakening by the millisecond, his connection to his vessel crumbling into dust.
’No... no! What is this power?! He’s eating my divinity!’ Damascus panicked, his eyes bulging in absolute horror. ’I need to get out—I need to sever the connection—I need to escape—’
His desperate thoughts hit a sudden, abrupt wall.
The world tilted violently.
Damascus blinked.
The sky was no longer above him; it was spinning around him.
The burning red desert horizon flipped upside down.
Then, he saw it.
Floating peacefully in the sky a few meters away was a six-foot-three, gray-haired, limb-less body dressed in ruined divine robes, blood spurting violently from its severed neck.
’Ah...’ Damascus thought, a strange, distant numbness washing over his consciousness.
’That’s... my vessel.’
Before his decapitated head could even complete its downward fall, Roy’s hand reached out through the air, casually catching Damascus by his gray hair.
The God of Misfortune had been executed.
**
Deep within the boundless expanse of his Divine Zone, the God of Information sat surrounded by infinity.
The domain manifested as a breathtaking cosmic library, where countless towering bookshelves constructed of dark mahogany stretch far into the starlit sky, defying spatial geometry.
Millions of glowing, parchment-like scrolls and floating crystal tablets drifted through the air like schools of luminescent fish, each containing the recorded knowledge, secret histories, and mathematical equations of the cosmos.
Pale blue algorithmic data constantly streamed through the air, humming softly with the quiet rhythm of universal truth.
Telvanus laid back in his materialized, plush wooden armchair, one leg lazily crossed over the other.
A warm, ambient light bathed his pristine features as he casually swiped a hand through a floating cascade of golden runic text, absorbing centuries of mortal history in a fraction of a microsecond.
Suddenly, a massive cosmic wave shuddered through the higher dimensions.
Far beyond the borders of his domain, out in the vast mortal plane, a thread of divinity was violently snapped.
The cosmic ledger automatically updated—a Lesser-tier True God had just been forced into a profound, unyielding slumber, his spiritual connection to the material world utterly shattered.
The algorithmic symbols dancing in Telvanus’s liquid-gold eyes flared bright before settling back into a tranquil glow.
He slowly turned his head toward the drifting spatial screens floating at his elbow, watching the fading energy signatures lingering over the scorched glass of the Hudeii Desert.
A slow, lopsided smile gradually pulled at the corners of his lips, carrying a mixture of utter disbelief, amusement, and deep anticipation.
"You really did it, huh? Varanus," Telvanus whispered into the quiet expanse of his library, his voice echoing softly against the endless shelves of divine knowledge.
He slowly closed the book, exhaled a deep sigh.
"This is perfect.....now the Heavens will be thrown into chaos, just i as wanted"