Chapter 19 – Among the Hands That Seek to Bind God
Previously, in Chapter 19
The Hellseer Council decreed the hunt for Enver and Zephyr.
Enver stood alone, facing three Council members.
Meanwhile, Zephyr had vanished from the human realm—
He now stood among astral beings who worshipped Maxcen.
His hands and arms were whole once more.
He smiled.
---
The sky was no longer gray. It shattered.
Three vertical beams of light pierced the atmosphere and struck the ground where Enver stood, shaking every node of dimensional balance. The three Council sigils burned in the air: the closed eye, the bleeding scale, and the blue-luminous hand.
They stood not far from Enver—Saelmir, Kavdrin, and Ysera.
Their expressions were calm, like still water over a pool of blood.
But Enver knew: still waters often conceal the deadliest whirlpools.
"Enver Eraly," Kavdrin spoke, his voice heavy like an irrefutable decree.
"You have become the breach through which Maxcen rises.
Your blood... your brother... everything points to you."
Enver didn't reply.
He simply twisted the cracked ring on his index finger—
The same one fractured since his last meeting with Zephyr.
His voice was cold.
"You wish to weigh sins?
Yet your scales never touched my hands when I purified this world with wounds."
Saelmir closed his eyes.
"We don't seek to harm.
But left unchecked, you will become a bridge—just like him."
"Zephyr?" Enver turned slightly,
his hair moving like moonlight shredded by the wind.
"You're too late.
He's already chosen."
And they struck.
---
The battle didn't begin with screams—
But silence.
Dimensional chains spiraled from the air behind Kavdrin,
aiming to bind Enver's body.
But he leapt upward, shattering them with the force of his palm.
Ysera summoned a cascade of blue light from her hands,
crafting illusions that distorted perception—
bending the world backward, as if Enver were running through reversed time.
But Enver was no ordinary man.
He had pierced the veil between body and awareness.
He broke the illusion with a single gaze.
Saelmir entered his mind.
Childhood echoes resounded—
his mother's screams, his father's rage, Zephyr's sobs—
all like nails driven into his skull without mercy.
But Enver's voice was louder.
He no longer feared the past—
Because it had already been stolen from him.
What he feared now was becoming a puppet…
Like them.
He surged forward, palm wide,
and struck Saelmir's chest.
The symbol of the closed eye cracked.
Ysera screamed, conjuring a protective dome—
But Enver had already vanished—
moving at the speed of intent.
Before he could strike again,
two more vertical lines tore the sky.
Two more Council members arrived.
Dorvas – Warden of Chains.
Elhara – Veil of Truth.
Dorvas descended with a coil of chains in his hands,
each link inscribed with the names of spirits he had bound over millennia.
Elhara descended without sound.
Her face shrouded in a thin, fluttering veil.
Time itself slowed in her presence—
as if the universe dared not behold her.
Now, Enver stood surrounded by five Hellseer Councilors.
And the sky trembled.
---
Enver didn't retreat.
He stood amidst their powers, his breath steady.
"How many of you have ever touched sin?" he asked—
Soft, but echoing.
"You weigh, judge, imprison, forgive…
But none of you have stepped into the wound."
Dorvas flung his chain like a lightning serpent,
targeting Enver's soul, not his flesh.
But Enver countered with a spiral of his hand—
opening a dimensional fold within himself,
absorbing the energy of the chain,
and hurling it back.
Dorvas was thrown backward,
blood trickling from his temple—
but he rose again.
Elhara moved slowly,
but with each step, the astral world around Enver shuddered.
She was unveiling the hidden truth—
something even Enver had never seen.
Her eyes opened beneath the veil.
And the sky crumbled.
"What are you hiding, Enver?" she whispered.
"Your truth... is more terrifying than Maxcen himself."
---
Meanwhile… in a far dimension.
Zephyr stood at an altar,
surrounded by the chants of a thousand astral beings.
His body was whole again.
Hands. Arms. Chest—
Restored.
Before him, Maxcen sat on a throne of fire that did not touch the ground.
Zephyr offered his praise without excess emotion.
Only a faint smile—
One almost like grief.
"Everything is broken," he whispered within.
"So if I must become God's replacement… let it be…"
He gazed upon his no longer shattered hand.
"…let me be the curse they worship in prayer."