CHAPTER NINE
The First Tremors
At first, the quake was subtle, like the planet sighing. The Forged did not flinch. They stood in ranks, their bodies vibrating faintly as dust trickled down their stone-carved shoulders. But the Shamites felt it in their marrow. Workers stopped mid-task, tools clattering to the ground.
"Commander," one general muttered, his voice taut, "the earth..."
Belial raised a hand for silence. He pressed his palm against the soil, eyes narrowing. He could feel the pulse beneath, not unlike Shamru but harsher, angrier. It was no simple tremor. It was intent.
"The land stirs," said the high priest, watching from the ridge. His voice was carried by Udu, who stood beside him, jaw clenched with unease. "She is waking."
Belial's reply was cold. "Then let her wake."
The Storm Unleashed
By midday, clouds swelled like bruises across the sky. Winds howled, ripping tents from stakes, slamming crates across the plain. Soldiers clung to their weapons, eyes wide as lightning split the horizon.
Then the heavens opened.
Rain poured with such force it felt like the sea itself had overturned. Fires hissed out. Workers cried out as the mud swallowed their feet.
"Form ranks!" Belial bellowed. His voice thundered across the chaos.
The Forged obeyed without hesitation, interlocking arms, their bodies forming walls against the gale. Behind them, Shamites and workers huddled, shielded from the storm by bodies that did not tire, did not fear.
Then came the lightning; not single strikes but volleys, dozens of bolts at once, hammering the ground. A lander exploded in flame, fragments hurled into the air like shattered stars. Soldiers fell screaming, their armor molten from the surge.
Belial strode into the storm, blade in hand, eyes blazing. "We are not undone by sky!" he roared. "We endure!"
The Forged roared with him, not voices of their own, but echoes of his will reverberating through their hollow shells.
And for a moment, it seemed true: they endured.
The Beasts of the Deep
The storm broke at dusk, but the earth continued to quake. Fissures split the plain, steam spewing into the air. From the molten cracks crawled creatures born of Edin's fury: serpents plated in obsidian, their bodies glowing with magma veins, their mouths rivers of fire.
Workers screamed. Soldiers raised weapons, bolts of plasma hissing through the rain. One serpent fell, its head blasted apart, but three more writhed forward, fangs snapping, bodies coiling around tents and soldiers alike.
Belial's voice cut through the chaos. "Forged, with me!"
The Forged surged forward. They grappled the serpents with bare hands, their stone skin burning, cracking under the molten heat. Yet each time they fell, Belial's will pulled them up again, reshaping them from ash and clay.
He leapt into the fray, his blade a streak of fire. He severed one serpent's head with a single strike, molten blood splattering across the mud. Another coiled around him, squeezing with crushing force. His ribs cracked, breath straining; until a Forged hurled itself into the serpent's coils, sacrificing its body to free its master.
The battle raged for hours. When the last serpent collapsed, its body cooling into black stone, silence fell over the ravaged camp.
The Shamites had survived; but only because of the Forged.
The High Priest's Judgment
The priest came at dawn, his face shadowed with rage. Udu stood beside him, translating each word with reluctance.
"This is your doing," the priest thundered. "The land spits beasts because you carve her flesh. The storms break because you steal her bones. The quakes deepen because you bind her breath into your abominations."
Belial stood unmoved, his armor still streaked with ash. "And yet we endure. We slay her beasts. We outlast her storms. We will not bow."
"You are not enduring," the priest hissed. "You are escalating. She rises against you, and you answer with more wounds. There will come a day when she does not test you but destroys you."
Belial stepped forward, his eyes faintly glowing gold. "Let her try."
The Division of the Camp
The camp split in two.
Saren, fiery and bold, gathered soldiers around him. "The Forged are salvation," he proclaimed. "They fight storms, beasts, even the earth itself. With ten thousand, we could carve Edin into our dominion. Belial leads us into eternity."
Maelor, grim and unyielding, countered. "Every Forged is another wound. Every wound draws deeper wrath. Already we've lost too much. If we remain on this path, there will be nothing left of us or this world."
The arguments spilled into the ranks. Soldiers shouted at each other. Workers deserted at night, slipping into the forests to seek shelter with indigenes. Some generals whispered of rebellion.
Belial quelled disputes with an iron hand. "There is no return," he told them. "No retreat. We march forward, or we die."
But even his voice could not mend the fractures.
Udu's Betrayal
Udu could bear no more.
That night, as the camp settled into uneasy silence, he slipped away. He walked to the settlement, his steps heavy, his heart torn.
Before the high priest, he knelt. "He will not stop," Udu said, voice breaking. "He shapes more each day. The Forged multiply. The land groans. The storms grow worse. If we wait, Edin will shatter beneath him."
The priest placed a hand on Udu's shoulder. "Then we must act. We must burn the bridge you have kept alive."
Udu's throat tightened. "I swore to be the bond between us. But now… perhaps the bond must break."
The priest's eyes gleamed with sorrow. "Not break. Burn. So that none may cross again."
The Forged Legion
By the next moon, Belial had shaped three thousand Forged. They filled the plains like a tide of stone, marching in precise ranks, their golden eyes glowing in unison.
Belial stood before them, arms spread wide.
"With you, storms cannot break us. With you, beasts cannot fell us. With you, we are eternal. You are my proof, my dominion, my future. With you, I will carve a world that bends to will alone."
The Forged bowed as one, silent, absolute.
Behind him, Maelor turned to his fellow generals. His voice was a whisper. "This is no longer survival. This is tyranny."
The Earthquake
On the third day, the land answered.
The quake struck without warning. The ground convulsed, splitting into vast chasms. The inland sea surged, waves towering high as fortresses, crashing against the shore. Entire sections of the camp fell into the abyss; landers, supplies, men screaming as they vanished into molten fire.
"Hold formation!" Belial roared, his voice straining over the thunder.
The Forged obeyed. They locked arms, forming bridges across the fissures. Hundreds of Shamites scrambled across their backs to safety. But hundreds more fell, swallowed by the abyss.
When the quake finally subsided, the plain was a scarred wasteland. Smoke drifted. Ash covered the survivors like burial shrouds.
Belial stood tall amid the ruins, his blade raised. "See? The land strikes, but we endure. We will always endure."
His generals said nothing. For endurance no longer felt like victory, only survival at the edge of annihilation.
The Whisper Grows Louder
That night, as Belial shaped another Forged from soil and crystal, the whisper returned. It was no longer faint, it thundered inside him, vast and consuming.
You are no longer servant. No longer brother. You are creator. You are god of Edin. This world bends to your will. Take it. Own it. Rule it.
Belial's hands shook as he molded the husk. His heart pounded. His oath to Akhan flickered like dying flame. His vow to save Akromos seemed distant, pale against the brilliance of his new dominion.
He whispered to the Forged as it rose. "You are mine. And with you, all of Edin will be mine."
And far below, deep within the planet's heart, something vast stirred fully awake.
Not beasts. Not storms. Something older. Something patient. Something furious.
Edin herself had opened her eyes.