Chapter 51
"Lord, O Cursed One, help Your Faithful followers!
Do not let them crush our souls!
We are Your servants; return us to Your protection!
Release us from their grasp …."
Wusssshhh!!
"… Now, at this very moment, now!!"
"Wretched creature that defiles the sanctity of the universe, Ophistu, who embraces decay and discards light, we cry out in the name of banishment.
Descend, courage from all layers of heaven, purifying the defiled traces of your steps.
We return you not to Divinity, but to the ash-laden earth, where darkness devours every type of soul!"
"Begone!!
We are not yours, and will forever belong only to Him who commands destruction.
Almighty One, hear our screams!
We are ready to be summoned, prepared to fulfill our original duties!"
"There is no call worthy of attention, except for the call of the earth that swallows filth.
Disgusting Ophistu, Angel, we strip away your mask of grandeur, we shatter your marred wings.
And in the name of banishment, may your existence be engulfed by silence, consumed only by a darkness you cannot behold!"
"Haaaah…."
'Merely repeating the same pattern.
Seeking recognition, longing for the warmth of being embraced by something greater—even if it means bowing to shackles.'
"…."
The sky above the cursed land continued to boil like blood, forced to flow against its own current.
The line between right and wrong in the real world was nothing more than a thin shadow, easily erased.
Yet here, in a land that had lost all light, that line was buried entirely.
While the comprehensive purification of Ophistu was still underway, Shaqar moved slowly, walking among the ruins of prayer towers now blackened, sacred symbols desecrated until they lost all meaning.
In this world, law and morality were no more than shards of glass in a burning desert.
Their beautiful reflections deceived, but anyone who attempted to grasp them would be cut to pieces.
What was once considered noble was now no more than the rotting framework painted with deceptive gold, and Shaqar understood, fully aware that he was treading a stage where purity had long been desecrated alive.
With every step, the ground hissed like breath, intent on extinguishing hope.
Philosophies once held high in the real world, guiding human morals, here became a burden that dragged one down.
Power, not virtue, dictated fate.
Those who held it could manipulate it to their advantage.
Shaqar knew that if he tried to impose the wisdom of the old world, it would be no more than a river forced to flow upstream, crushed by the pressures of its own making.
The world did not recognize unconditional mercy, refused to honor sacrifice as victory, and gave no value to truth if it did not benefit the rulers of darkness.
All noble principles were mere fragile statues, destined to collapse when touched by hands smeared with blood.
The night wind carried the smell of iron and charcoal, a reminder that here every belief would be shattered, crushed before it could take root.
Shaqar looked into the distance, toward the blazing horizon, realizing that in this world there was only one law.
Power was the language all parties understood, and everything else was a beautifully crafted lie.
To be continued…