Ficool

Chapter 224 - Chapter 224 - Vol. 2 - Chapter 50: A True Man of Martial Virtue

"Damn it! What are you bastards doing?! Get away! Get away!"

Kronos roared furiously, thrashing against his bonds.

Beneath the sea, as Poseidon swung his trident, three pitch-black whirlpools opened beneath the feet of the Titan gods. The sinister vortices stretched into bronze chambers engraved with dense scripts, their walls locking together like gnashing teeth.

"To replace the three Hecatoncheires with three Titan gods, filling the void of the Abyss—that is the pact I made with Tartarus."

"May you enjoy your new home, my dear father and uncles..."

Zeus tapped his Thunderbolt, a cold smile on his lips as silver lightning pierced through Kronos's still-struggling arm.

Blood sprayed. The severed limb, still tethered by muscle and bone, tumbled into the waves along with the Scythe of Time clutched in its grip.

Though Kronos rapidly knitted his flesh together, his divine power was in chaos. He could no longer resist the abyssal pull of Tartarus.

The three Titan gods sank deeper and deeper, their massive forms swallowed inch by inch.

"Bastards! I curse you! I curse you!"

"You too will be replaced by your children! And your end will be far more miserable than mine!"

"I'll be waiting for you below, Zeus!!!"

As he sank into despair, Kronos's eyes bulged wide, hurling venomous curses at his bloodline until the abyss consumed him whole.

When the last light of the Old Gods vanished into Tartarus, the age of Olympus began.

Zeus looked to the two brothers and three sisters standing beside him. The smile on his face darkened. His gaze then fell to his wife Metis, her belly heavy with imminent birth, and his expression grew even grimmer.

Meanwhile, as the gods schemed among themselves, a small, unremarkable black fish darted like lightning through the reefs. Its jaws stretched grotesquely wide as it swallowed the fallen gray-black scythe and the severed arm whole.

Riding the currents, it lashed its tail and drilled into the belly of a humpback whale. Gnawing its flesh from within, it forced the beast to flee in pitiful cries.

Days later, the exhausted whale crashed into reefs, its body torn and bleeding from countless wounds. As it floated lifeless upon the waves, its life's flame guttered out.

"Hum!"

A sudden violent tremor shook the depths. Samael, hidden in the whale's belly, paled.

Within the cavity, the gray-black scythe—once suppressed by the golden radiance of the Tablet of Destinies—shattered its bindings.

Dark light rippled outward, twisting as the power of creation and destruction in time and space seeped free.

Pfft!

The whale's corpse, struck by the scythe's residual power, crumbled half to ash in an instant.

Samael, caught in the blast, reverted to serpent form. His scales withered and fell, his flesh rotting and sloughing away.

Yet from his stark white bones, a thorn-like green sprout glimmered faintly, pulsing with fragile but tenacious life.

But each time the regeneration reached the abdominal cavity, the scythe's destructive force reduced the new flesh to ash again.

After several cycles, even the Herb of Immortality's green bud was close to collapse.

Desperate to live, Samael melted the spirit cores he had stored in his stomach. Ether surged in chaotic torrents, barely sustaining his body as it struggled to suppress the scythe's rampage.

Indeed, he had been far too greedy.

Wracked with unbearable pain, Samael regretted his choices, but he had no choice except to endure the tearing clash of the two forces.

Half his body had become stark white bone, the other half still blood and flesh. Curled into a ball, his form trembled as his consciousness flickered, wavering between rebirth and decay.

At the critical moment, dense golden light patterns surfaced, coalescing from the flickering earth-colored particles within his body, flooding into every limb and bone of the host.

Suddenly, divine inspiration struck. Samael instinctively curled head to tail, forming a perfect circle. A divine hum rang through his mind.

"I am immortal!"

"I am complete!"

"I am the world!"

"This is the infinite ring, the principle of destiny—Ouroboros!"

At once, under this divine utterance, the light of the Tablet of Destinies gathered into the sacred sigil of the serpent devouring its own tail.

As its host, Samael remained coiled head to tail, holding a delicate balance between life and death.

The Scythe of Time, struggling and resonating, was dragged into the endless cycle. Its rebellious light dimmed, grew weaker, and finally stilled.

The serpent's mark slowly broke through the gray-black divine power, etching itself upon the divine artifact—emerging from nothing, faint at first, then burning deep.

In that state, neither fully awake nor fully asleep, it felt like an instant, yet also like a century had passed.

At last, Samael felt the chaotic temporal power within his body fully sealed inside the Scythe of Time. His coil loosened, and his consciousness gently stirred awake.

But the moment the Ouroboros's "Infinity," the special dormancy granted by the Tablet of Destinies, was lifted, all the delayed sensations—pain, numbness, burning soreness—erupted at once, gnawing at his nerves.

And with his aura leaking, the ancient serpent sensed sea monsters converging nearby.

His mind a storm, he launched himself forward, riding the waves toward the shore.

Yet the sudden shift from sea to land made his heart seize violently. His vision swam with blackness.

With sheer willpower, Samael forced his body to endure, staggering across the sands.

Only when he reached the cover of a secluded river valley did he allow himself the slightest slackening. Exhaustion immediately overtook him, and he collapsed against a broad-leaved tree with ashen bark.

Don't sleep!

The instant he touched the ground, he bit through his lip, jolting his mind back to clarity.

This was the perilous Age of Gods. To faint in the wild was no different than offering himself up to the divine beasts nearby. To die like that would be far too pathetic.

The ancient serpent braced against the old tree, swaying as he tried to rise.

Then came steady, rhythmic footsteps from deeper within the valley, echoing closer behind him.

What—had he stumbled into a monster's lair? Could his luck truly be this cursed?

Samael's heart sank. His slit pupils shrank to needles as he gathered the last dregs of divine power, ready to strike.

"Traveler from afar, you're wounded. Don't act rashly."

Just as his aura reached its peak, about to explode, a hand pressed gently onto his shoulder. The voice was calm, reassuring.

"Sleep. I'll find a way to help you..."

Samael turned his head on instinct. His gaze met a figure with golden hair and emerald eyes, radiating an aura of natural warmth.

Then his vision dipped lower—catching the reflection of the man's lower body, four long, slender legs. The serpent's eyes rolled back. Relief washed through him, and he lost consciousness.

Hmm. Long legs, with a little foot-fetish bonus. Since it's him, safety shouldn't be a problem.

...

For more chapters, feel free to follow me on P@treon.

(50 Chapters Ahead)

[email protected]/PinkSnake

More Chapters