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{Chapter: 258: The World Trembles}
After all, while they couldn't kill him outright, these demons weren't above crippling him out of spite, especially if he became a liability.
But he didn't give up the play entirely.
Instead, he subtly converted the viruses within the chewed flesh into a semi-dormant tracking form, embedding thousands of microscopic plague markers inside the god clone.
"I don't need to win today. I only need to know where to aim tomorrow."
Meanwhile, the indigenous warriors who hadn't defected stood like statues, staring into the void with faces pale and hollow. Their city had turned into a nightmare. Their own companions had been cultists. Their leaders— evil gods in disguise. And now the demons stood unopposed.
Some, in desperation, threw down their weapons and knelt, begging for mercy.
"Please! Spare us! We'll serve!"
But Gewa's expression remained unmoved.
He raised one clawed hand and sighed.
"Begin again. No more talking."
With that one command, hell returned.
The demons descended with brutal efficiency.
Blood spurted in fountains.
Heads were cleaved clean off, torsos sliced open from neck to navel. Limbs were torn like meat from roasted bones. The air rang with the crunch of skulls, the ripping of spines, the wails of the dying, and the cheering howls of demons feasting.
Surrender was meaningless.
One elder warrior was bisected by a demon with six blade-covered arms, his upper body sliding to the ground while his legs remained upright for several seconds.
Another tried to use a sealing spell—but a snake-headed demon vomited acid into her mouth, melting her insides before she could speak the final chant.
One by one, the natives fell.
By the time silence returned to Augustus, the cobbled streets ran red like rivers of blood, and the city square had become a charnel pit.
Hours later, with the screams fading and only the crackle of burning buildings left to accompany the dead, Gewa stood in the heart of it all.
It was time to fulfill the contract.
He handed out the agreed-upon task rewards—souls, relics, spells, and knowledge, each wrapped in cursed containers—to the surviving demons. Dex accepted his share with a half-hearted nod.
His gaze lingered on the numb, silent civilians still crowded in the plaza—thousands of them, glassy-eyed and motionless from magical mind suppression.
"Time to offer them," Gewa said softly.
He turned to the crowd, raising both arms high.
"Commit suicide. Dedicate your flesh, your blood, and your souls to the great Mother. Let your bodies become gateways, and your deaths provide the coordinates for our Lord!"
"YES!"
The crowd answered as one—like puppets whose strings were pulled by fate.
Without hesitation, they slit their own throats, bashed their heads on the stone floor, or tore their own chests open with broken glass.
Millions died in unison.
The sound was like a great waterfall of death, wave after wave crashing onto the cobblestones.
And then—
BOOM!
A red pillar of light surged from the center of the massacre, rocketing into the sky and punching through the clouds with the force of a cannon.
Dark clouds roared in.
The wind howled.
Rain, black as oil, began to fall.
The ground cracked open, rivers dried up, plants crumbled to ash, and a thick poisonous green mist oozed from the earth.
For hundreds of kilometers around Augustus, the very fabric of nature began to rot.
A new domain was being born—the Polluted Lands.
It was land meant not for humans… but for demons.
Their new foothold.
Dex, already walking away with his reward, paused briefly to admire the sky turning crimson above the city ruins.
"So much for a quiet day," he muttered, then flapped his wings and vanished into the storm, his next plan already forming.
---
All across the surrounding towns, cities, and neighboring kingdoms, beneath moonlit skies now veiled in red haze, countless citizens raised their trembling eyes toward the heavens.
Above them, a monstrous vortex churned and crackled—its dark spiral of clouds pulsing with malevolent light and unleashing thunderous roars that echoed for hundreds of miles. The wind was no longer just air; it reeked of burnt flesh and rot, carried from Augustus like the breath of the dead.
No words were needed.
They all knew. Every soul who looked up understood with primal certainty what was happening.
The City of Augustus had fallen.
And not simply fallen—it had been erased, consumed, and turned into something unholy.
This apocalyptic vortex was no ordinary natural disaster. It was a beacon of the Abyss—a grotesque monument of suffering and bloodletting, announcing to all who dared look: "We are here."
In mere minutes, chaos broke out.
Driven by the instinctual dread of impending doom, families fled their homes in the dead of night. Mothers dragged screaming children, fathers abandoned shops and farms, and even the sick and elderly hobbled or were carried toward the distant borders.
Caravans collided. Carts overturned. Roads became jammed with desperate bodies.
Fights broke out over horses, water, and food. People were trampled in the mad rush. Old grudges erupted. Fires were started, either by accident or on purpose. Town guards abandoned their posts to protect their own families.
In one small town, a priest tried to calm the crowd with prayer.
A starving woman smashed his head open with a rock to steal his horse.
In the Heart of an Ancient Kingdom
Far from the eye of the storm, in one of the kingdoms neighboring Augustus, even the luxurious royal palace—a place usually steeped in ceremony and wine—was now a chamber of fear.
Though it was the middle of the night, every window in the palace glowed with firelight.
Messengers ran through halls. Advisors whispered in corners. And in the royal study, King Varyon, ruler of the Sapphire Throne, stood with a wine goblet trembling in his hand.
"Damn it! Damn it all!"
His voice cracked..
"How the hell did Augustus become a polluted zone overnight?!"
The magic crystal before him showed a horrifying aerial view—what was once a thriving city now reduced to a lake of black ooze, its towers sunken and broken, surrounded by pulsating red sigils etched into the scorched earth.
"Wasn't Augustus supposed to be our shield? Our sword against the Abyss?"
Varyon was no fool. He resented mages, yes—but he feared them even more.
And Augustus had many.
For a city like that to fall without so much as a warning…
It shattered any illusions he had left.
He realized, with a chill in his spine, that if a place as powerful as Augustus could be obliterated so swiftly, then his own kingdom would not last a single day under a full-scale Abyssal assault.
The realization left him sickened.
Clenching his jaw, Varyon composed himself and began issuing rapid-fire orders.
"Seal the eastern borders immediately! Post every knight and archer we have. Any breach, any disturbance, any movement—we burn it to ash!"
"Place every city and town under surveillance! No more secrets! No more tolerance!"
"The contaminated zone is still unstable, which means survivors may escape. If they do, screen them! Tear off their shirts, check their skin, their blood—I don't want a single demon slipping through!"
He almost ordered their execution, but stopped himself.
He knew that the public would turn against him if he slaughtered civilians who escaped a cataclysm. The political fallout could be immense, especially if neighboring powers used it as an excuse to attack or incite rebellion.
So he compromised. For now.
The nobles and ministers—most of whom had buried their faces in silence to avoid his wrath—finally dared to speak, nodding and bowing in robotic acceptance of his commands.
Across the World: Tremors of Dread
Similar scenes played out across the continent.
In desert empires, frigid mountain strongholds, and ocean-wrapped isles, panic erupted. The infected sky above Augustus was visible for thousands of kilometers—a black halo of flame and shadow, constantly shifting and roaring, as if it were alive.
In temples of holy nations, priests screamed of prophecy.
"The end is coming! The black door has opened!"
In merchant guilds, trade routes collapsed.
Caravans turned around. Goods were abandoned. Entire markets plunged into chaos overnight.
In criminal dens, rumors flew faster than coin.
"The Abyss has grown teeth," one whispered.
"And it's biting through the world."
Even beasts—wolves, ravens, and more—sensed the shift. Packs fled their forests, howled at blood moons, or drowned themselves in rivers. Dragons turned from their mountains. Even vampires slumbering in forgotten crypts awoke, sensing a feast or a threat.
And Augustus?
It no longer resembled a city.
Its streets were gone—swallowed into craters lined with fleshy tendrils.
Its buildings had melted into bone and obsidian, spires bent at impossible angles.
Millions of corpses—civilians who had torn out their own hearts under compulsion—now lay embedded into the land like mosaic tiles, forming a blood sigil that glowed brighter with every passing minute.
The surrounding forests blackened and died.
Rivers reversed their flow, now carrying dark red sludge filled with bone fragments.
And from above… the vortex only grew larger.
It became a wound in the sky.
A mouth.
A scream.
What had happened in Augustus would echo for generations to come.
And every man, woman, king, mage, or monster who saw that sky—knew in their soul:
"This is only the beginning."