Chapter 231

Draco cleaved through the smoke-choked air, his powerful wings beating a frantic rhythm towards District Six.

Below, Orario was a canvas of agony – not just screams, but gasping sobs, guttural war cries, the sharp clang of desperate parries, and the sickening thud of bodies hitting rubble.

The air itself seemed to vibrate with the raw terror of mortals, the righteous fury of remaining adventurers, and even, impossibly, the fading echoes of divine anguish.

Confusion and chaos didn't just fill the streets; they were the architects of destruction, tearing down defenses, scattering hope like dust.

It was a situation born of impossible circumstances, a reality violently twisted.

When, the first pillar erupted – a blinding column of pure, incandescent light pierced the bruised sky from the west.

It was followed swiftly by a second from the north, then a third from the south.

In moments, Orario's horizon was impaled by ten searing beams, each one a monument to a god violently returned to the heavens from whence they came.

The unwritten law, the fundamental taboo that mortals must not kill gods, remained unbroken. But for a god to strike down another god? That was permissible.

And ten such pillars signified one horrifying, undeniable truth: at least ten gods on the evilus side had claimed the lives of ten gods who stood with Orario and the adventurers.

This was the worst, a development utterly beyond foresight, a catastrophe of unforeseen magnitude.

While the adventurers reeled in shock, their minds struggling to process the impossible sight, the forces of the evilus roared with triumph.

Foremost among them, Valletta's eerie, chilling laughter echoed through the pandemonium as she fell upon the dazed and broken ranks of the adventurers.

A familia, severed from the blessing of their deity, had their abilities sealed.

Their strength, endurance, dexterity, agility and magic – the very gifts that made them strong – withered, leaving them little more than skilled mortals armed with inadequate tools.

They could theoretically seek out another god, another familia, and potentially have their blessings restored, but in the heart of this maelstrom, with blood slicking the cobblestones and death raining from the skies, seeking sanctuary mid-battle was a cruel fantasy.

Furthermore, the gods who remained wouldn't simply accept any shaken survivor into their ranks; the bonds of familia were forged through trust and purpose, and hasty additions in times of crisis carried the risk of a single 'rotten egg' compromising the entire group.

Feeling utterly powerless, stripped of their divine aid, the adventurers who had lost their gods sank into despair.

They became easy prey, helpless targets for the rampaging evilus soldiers.

Defensive perimeters, painstakingly erected, began to crumble, leaving gaping holes in Orario's rapidly shrinking shield.

The tide of war had not just turned; it had become a tsunami, heavily tilted in favour of the evilus.

"Make it stop... please, someone do something!" A female adventurer sobbed, her voice raw with hysteria, her knees buckling on the blood-soaked ground.

"I surrender! Please, just don't kill me!" another pleaded, dropping their weapon before a towering evilus soldier whose response was a cruel, indifferent grin.

Though he was in a desperate hurry towards District Six, Draco found he couldn't simply fly past the horrific spectacle of the adventurers' helplessness.

He didn't know these people, felt no personal connection to them, but he detested the stark inequality of the slaughter – the fact that they utterly lacked the means to fight back effectively.

So many were utterly demoralized, frozen by terror or resigned to their fate, laying down their arms and passively awaiting death.

It was a truly horrid picture, one that, despite his usual detachment, scraped against something deep within him, a flicker of something akin to empathy.

But not all had succumbed to the crushing weight of despair.

Here and there, pockets of resistance flared – adventurers, abandoned by their gods but not their will, hacking and stabbing, clinging onto life and the lives of their comrades by sheer, desperate will.

To Draco, these were the ones worth saving, the sparks in the deepening gloom.

With a silent decision, he altered his trajectory slightly, raining down brief, focused bursts of elemental magic from the sky above.

It wasn't a full assault; he needed to conserve his strength for the true battle he sensed looming, but it was enough.

Enough to scatter the immediate threats, to buy precious moments for those within his flight path to scramble towards the relative safety of Central Park or find temporary refuge in the shattered buildings.

Unseen by Draco, perched atop the crumbling stones of a ruined temple overlooking the chaos, a trio of eyes watched his intervention with varying degrees of interest.

"Hoooo! Well, now, look at that," a voice drawled, tinged with predatory curiosity.

"A flying lizard." It was Mors, his gaze fixed on the dragon-like figure.

"Hmmph. Is that the creature your god spoke of?" another voice rumbled, deep and unimpressed. Zald, a figure of immense power, sounded bored.

"Seems weak for something supposedly close to a dragon."

"How can you know for sure?" Mors challenged lightly.

"It doesn't stimulate my appetite," Zald replied flatly, and Mors, for once, fell silent.

Beside them, Alfia stared in Draco's direction, her face a mask of annoyance.

"For something so weak, its noise is particularly grating," she muttered, observing his movements with a sharp, critical eye.

"Hmmm, well, since you two seem so... uninterested," Mors purred, a dangerous glint entering his eyes, "I suppose I'll go hunt me a lizard."

"Do as you wish," Zald replied, his voice unwavering, "but do not forget the plan."

"Yeah, yeah, it should only take a few minutes," Mors dismissed the warning with a wave, already coiled, ready to spring.

He vanished into the surrounding shadows.

"What an utterly annoying man," Alfia muttered under her breath as she watched him disappear.

……………………………………………………………………………

The ground tremors, which had shaken the city to its core for the past few minutes, finally ceased.

One by one, the dazzling pillars of divine light faded, dissolving into a gentle shower of twinkling motes that drifted down like falling stars.

A stunned silence fell over many parts of the city, a stark contrast to the recent cacophony.

In one area, Astraea, Hermes, Alise, Neze, and Iska stood frozen, unable to fully process the impossible events they had just witnessed.

The first to break the oppressive quiet was Neze, her legs giving out as she collapsed to her knees.

"It's over," she whispered, her voice hollow.

"Neze..." Alise began, her own voice thick with shock, unsure how to offer comfort in the face of such devastation.

"Orario... it's finished," Neze choked out, tears streaming down her face, blurring the ruined cityscape before her.

While Neze wept, Astraea, her divine eyes wide with horror and disbelief, was lost in deep, troubled thought.

"Ten gods... all returned to heaven... at once," she murmured, the gravity of the loss crushing her spirit.

Hermes, his mind churning, pieced together the puzzle with chilling speed.

"So all those sneak attacks over the months... they weren't random acts of terror. They were meant to ascertain exactly where most gods would congregate, where they would seek refuge in an emergency..." He trailed off, the realization dawning with horrifying clarity.

"We thought they were just random events... meant to rattle the city... but never... this." He whispered the last word, the weight of their failure, of how utterly they had been deceived, pressing down on him.

The evilus plan was far deeper, far more twisted and devastating than anyone had imagined.

Just as their minds were reeling from the brutal reality of the ten fallen gods, a new sound sliced through the fragile quiet – a voice, low and resonant, yet carrying a sinister power that seemed to emanate from the very stones of the city.

"Hark, Orario..."

The voice echoed, amplified by some unseen force, reaching into every corner of the sprawling metropolis.

"Hark, Ouranus... Hark, Astraea... and Bahamut..." The mention of the specific gods sent shivers down spines.

"I am the darkness which gives this age its name, and I have come... to extinguish mortal hope."

Astraea and Hermes stood transfixed, stunned into silence by the sheer audacity and power of the declaration.

Bahamut, still in Hephaestus workshop, looked out a shattered window, her expression utterly blank as she listened.

Even Faluzure, who had been sitting idly like a statue, opened his eyes to listen.

"Hehehehehe... things are about to get... more interesting."

Ouranus, seated on his lonely throne deep beneath the city, heard the proclamation.

His ancient, sky-blue eyes, usually placid, peered deep into the unseen forces at play, into the cosmic fabric itself.

"The time for covenants is over," the voice continued, dripping with contempt for the bonds between gods and mortals.

"I will tear man and god apart... bringing an end to the age of gods!"

The declaration soared, growing in intensity.

"I will bring us all back to true darkness... a swirling maelstrom of chaos even the gods cannot fully comprehend!"

The dark god's pronouncement had an immediate effect, halting the scattered fighting that still raged in some areas.

Adventurers and evilus soldiers alike paused, heads tilted, everyone straining their ears not to miss a single, terrifying word.

"You may despise me for this... you may think me mad. Go ahead. Weep, howl, beg... and then accept my calamity. For I am evil incarnate... and what greater joy is there for evil than to be hated... and reviled?"

‘Tsk. Looks like I have to give up on my lizard hunt for now’ Mors thought, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face even as he sprinted back through the ruined streets, drawn by the magnetic pull of the dark god voice.

‘Didn't know he would be starting his main speech so soon’ he cursed.

Across the city, Ryuu felt a sudden, sickening jolt of recognition at the sound of the voice.

It was familiar... terrifyingly familiar.

Her grip on the wooden sword she carried loosened, and it clattered to the ground unnoticed.

Her heart pounded against her ribs like a trapped bird, her pulse raced in her veins.

She knew that voice.

She had heard it before, in her darkest nightmares.

"My name is Erebus..." the voice declared, ownership heavy in the air. "...primordial darkness... and god of the underworld!"

In the northwest quadrant of the city, atop the highest point of the shattered temple where the observers had stood, a figure emerged from the swirling shadows that seemed to cling to it.

Erebus stepped out for all of Orario to see him, silhouetted against the bruised sky.

Behind him, standing like dark pillars themselves, were his three conquerors.

‘Tsk. Of course. I got the worst spot’ Mors cursed internally as he finally arrived, forced to take position behind Erebus, slightly to the side.

He had been late, distracted by his intended prey, and now Zald and Alfia stood by his side, claiming the positions of prominence.

Ignoring Mors's obvious dissatisfaction, Erebus extended a hand, gesturing out across the city that lay broken before him, and continued his address.

"Listen well, all you who fight chaos in the name of good! For we are those who fight order... in the name of evil!" There was no mistaking the cold cynicism, the utter contempt in Erebus's words.

He was publicly denouncing everything Orario stood for, everything that goodness and righteousness had ever built within its walls.

"Listen well," he repeated, his voice dropping slightly, drawing the city's collective breath tighter.

"I have something you all need to hear."

A twisted, cruel grin curved his lips as he slowly raised that one arm, pointing it towards the heart of the city, towards the symbol of its hope.

"Death to justice!" he declared, the words echoing like a hammer blow.

The impact of his declaration was immediate and polarized.

From the ranks of the evilus forces scattered across the city, a ragged, fervent cheer rose, quickly becoming a unified chant of "Death to justice! Death to justice!" echoing their master's decree with fanatical devotion.

But for those on the side of justice, for the adventurers who remained, for the citizens huddled in fear, and even for those caught somewhere in between, Erebus's chilling pronouncement ignited a tempest of conflicting emotions – cold dread, raw terror, burning rage, and a desperate, defiant spark that refused to be extinguished.

A/N: Feel free to read ahead on pat3on and donate.