Jamie watches the world around him shift—from the familiar walls of his cottage to a shadowed chamber drenched in purple mist, dominated by the towering statue of his god.
He falls to his knees before it, bowing again and again, whispering prayers between every breath.
Moments pass, and then a voice echoes through the chamber—so gentle, so warm, it feels like returning to the womb.
"My child... what can I do for you?"
Jamie's eyes gleam with fervent devotion, a fanatic light igniting within them.
To him, this god is everything—the one who saved him from despair.
"I have completed your task, my lord," he says, trembling. "Nine martial artists will join me to hunt the triple-horned rhino."
The voice returns, honeyed and full of pride.
"Good... good. I knew I could trust you."
"You are my favourite child."
A smile spreads across Jamie's face—soft at first, then wide with devotion.
He craves more.
More tasks. More praise. More rewards.
Nothing in the world compares to the warmth of his god's voice.
Once, while training in martial arts, he suffered a crippling injury—an injury that should've barred him forever from reaching the upper realms.
But now he stands as a Unification Realm martial artist.
All because of the god's blessing.
The healing. The power. The impossible made real.
And Jamie wants more.
He needs more—because deep down, he knows he can't reach the King Kong Realm on his own.
He bows low, his voice eager.
"My god... do you have another task for me?"
A pause, then the voice returns—velvet and kind.
"My child, not yet. But I do have a reward for you."
Jamie's heart races. "Thank you, god."
The voice whispers, "Now go."
Darkness swirls around him, pulling him into a spiralling black tunnel.
For a moment, everything vanishes—sight, sound, sensation.
And then—
Jamie gasps, blinking, back in his room.
His gaze snaps to the statue—obsession burning in his eyes.
A sigh of relief escapes him as a red mist seeps from the carved figure.
He quickly drops into a cross-legged position, chanting the god's name in a hushed, reverent tone.
His breathing follows a precise rhythm—the sacred method taught by the head priest.
The mist drifts toward him, curling like smoke, and seeps into his body.
At once, his cells shift, and his True Energy sharpens—cleaner, denser, more powerful.
A moan slips from his lips as waves of pleasure roll through him.
But within a minute, the mist fades.
Jamie opens his eyes, breath heavy, expression clouded with disappointment.
He wanted more.
He always does.
But the reward has ended.
Jamie stares at the statue, tempted to plead once more—to beg for another task, another chance to be praised and gifted.
But he sighs, shaking his head.
The god had already said there were no more tasks.
To press further might offend him, and Jamie can't risk that.
He won't lose the title of favourite child.
With trembling reverence, he picks up the statue and carefully tucks it back beneath the bed.
He longs to shout his faith to the world—to declare his devotion to the God of Life and Blood.
But the incompetent, greedy federation has banned all worship of his god.
So he stays hidden, waiting.
One day, he'll help tear down this corrupt regime and build a new nation—one that bows to the true god.
A world where there is no injustice, only equality through belief.
But if Jamie had known the truth—that the voice he hears isn't even his god's—he would have screamed.
Far away, deep underground, a man in red robes walks silently through a narrow corridor, its walls pulsing faintly under crimson lights.
The corridor opens into a vast chamber, hollow and silent, save for the slow ripple of liquid.
In the centre lies a massive pool of blood.
And within it, a woman swims naked, graceful, unbothered by the iron scent thick in the air.
The man stops at the edge, bows low, and says, "High Priest, Sacrifice No. 78 reports completion of the task."
For a moment, there's no reply—only the sound of her movements through the blood.
Then her voice echoes from the centre of the pool, smooth and cold, "The arrangement with the Triple Horn Rhino is in place."
The man does not reply—the task wasn't his to question.
His duty is to assign missions to the faithful and relay their success.
Another voice rises from the far end of the chamber, slipping out from the shadows like a breath of smoke, "High Priest, all preparations are complete. Only the blood sacrifice remains to open Dimensional Gate No. 16."
As the high priest rises, the man—Thomas—bows lower, eyes catching a glimpse of her milky-white thigh glistening under the bloodlight.
He hears her step forward, liquid sliding off her skin, and her voice cuts through the still air, "Will the sacrifice suffice?"
The figure in the shadows answers, low and certain, "Three Colossal Realm Triple Horn Rhinos will be offered. Their blood will be more than enough."
A moment later, a sheer, red, almost-transparent robe materialises over the High Priest's form, like mist draping over fire.
She turns slightly, and her voice echoes with command and calm cruelty, "Thomas."
His eyes widen.
The High Priest knows his name.
A lowly priest like him, barely worthy of notice, acknowledged by the most exalted voice in the temple.
He stammers, voice trembling with devotion, "High Priest, what can I do for you?"
Her tone remains even, as if speaking of the weather, "Thomas, how strong is your control over the body of Sacrifice No. 78?"
He straightens, eager to please, "It is strong, High Priest. He has absorbed the divine gift four times. If I am near, I can take full control of his body."
There is a pause.
Then her words come slowly and finally, "If the gate fails to open after the three Triple Horn Rhinos are sacrificed… return No. 78 to the god's embrace."
His breath catches—he hesitates only for a heartbeat before lowering his head.
"Yes, High Priest."
"You may leave."
Thomas bows, turns, and walks out, the sound of his steps vanishing in the mist.
The chamber grows silent again until her voice drips into the air, "And what of the Eight True Blood descendants? I hear they've been stirring."
A voice replies from the shadows—measured, low, watchful, "High Priest, they seek to unseal Axeris."
The High Priest goes still.
Her aura pulses once, sharp and cold.
"They know our god forbids it," she says flatly.
"They should know," the voice answers.
"Then… should I stop them?"
The High Priest laughs, mocking and cold, sharp enough to cut.
"They knew," she hisses, "and still chose defiance."
She imagines flaying them alive—burning their bloodlines from the root—but her focus snaps back to what truly matters.
Her voice is cool, measured and calm. "Kayla, we still have five years before the seal must be reinforced. Let the Seal Families and the Demon Hunter Club act first. If they fail… then we intervene."
From the shadows, Kayla murmurs, "High Priest."
"Yes?" the High Priest replies, her tone already laced with boredom.
Kayla hesitates, then speaks, "We… we've lost track of Lance."
The High Priest goes still.
Then her voice cracks like a whip, "How?"
Kayla lowers her head, though the mist conceals her expression.
"He entered the Demon Hunter Club Headquarters three days ago… and hasn't come out since."
" And an insider inside the club says he has left."
A surge of killing intent floods the chamber as the High Priest's eyes sharpen to slits.
"Heavenly Sense grants him a fifty-kilometre detection radius," she mutters. "If he lingers near any of our installations, everything we've built could unravel."
Her voice dips into a venom-laced whisper.
"Find him, Kayla. Now."
Kayla bows low and vanishes into the mist.
Alone in the dim silence, the High Priest exhales slowly—then lets out a piercing scream, her fury tearing through the quiet like shattering glass.
---
Zake claps politely, seated in the softly lit auditorium with rows of proud parents around him. His wife, beaming, leans closer and whispers,
"Zake, two more performances—then it's Nina's turn to dance."
Zake smiles faintly and nods, trying to settle into the moment. He glances at his wife and offers a gentle nod.
Today is the annual celebration at his wife's sister's school, and he's here to support Nina.
He married his wife two and a half years ago. At the time, he had only come to Terrilyn temporarily, recovering from an injury sustained during a mission.
To stay active, he accepted the post of Head of the Demon Hunter Club in the city, intending to return to the capital once he healed.
But six months in, while attending a local party, he saw her. One look—and he fell in love.
Two months later, they were married.
Winning her heart hadn't been difficult—his natural charm did most of the work.
Her family, wealthy but not politically powerful, assumed he was a scion of some influential capital clan sent to manage business interests in Terrilyn.
It was a believable cover—after all, the Demon Hunter Club operated behind a false front as a nationwide chain of luxury malls.
But after the wedding, the dilemma began.
When his agreed term ended, should he leave… or make this city his home?
A year before that choice needed to be made, his mind was already leaning toward departure.
But a month before the decision, everything changed.
He was injured again—badly—during a raid on a Demon worshipper's base.
The mission succeeded, but he ended up in surgery, unconscious for hours.
When he opened his eyes in the hospital, he saw his wife, collapsed in a chair, her eyes red and swollen, clutching his hand like she was afraid he'd vanish.
That was the moment he made his decision.
He wouldn't make her cry like that again.
He would stay.
Zake chose family over duty and made his appointment as Head of the Demon Hunter Club in Terrilyn permanent.
"Sir Zake!" a voice called, snapping him from memory.
He blinked and turned.
One of his men, Wade, was hurrying down the aisle toward him, drawing frustrated murmurs from the audience behind.
Zake stood up to avoid blocking anyone's view and stepped aside with Wade.
"I told you not to disturb me today," he said, keeping his voice low.
"I know, sir," Wade replied, slightly breathless. "But… It's from Sir Lance. He said to bring you immediately."
Zake's eyes narrowed. "What happened?"
"I don't know, sir. Just that he emphasised it's urgent."
Zake sighed and glanced at the stage, where Nina's performance was only a few minutes away.
He met his wife's eyes across the auditorium and gave her a smile, trying to ease the guilt already curling in his chest.
Then, quietly, he pulled out his phone and typed a message: Something came up. I have to go. I'm sorry.
Family or duty.
This time, he chose duty—and walked out.