Thirty days had passed since Kent began the ritual to summon the Three-Phased God. The once vibrant energy surrounding the Devil Mountain had dimmed, replaced by an eerie silence.
Kent remained resolute, standing still on one leg, chanting the scriptures that floated before him. The golden leaves of the sacred texts turned on their own, yet the heavens remained silent. No divine response had come.
Three more days left for the blood moon…
Meanwhile, deep within the dark chambers of the Demon Castle, Demon Lord Phillip sat upon his grotesque throne, made of thousands of twisted, petrified bones. His ghostly bone dragon, its four massive wings folded like a shadowy cloak, rested beside him.
Reports from his spies had just arrived, whispering the pathetic state of the so-called warriors of the Nine Realms. Phillip burst into laughter, his guttural voice shaking the entire castle.
“Hahahaha! They’ve all gathered at the Devil Mountain? Fools! They’ve sealed their own fate by caging themselves in their own death ground,” he mocked, swirling a goblet of dark blood-wine.
The generals around him chuckled, their various demonic forms flickering in the dim torchlight.
“They must think their pretty spells and treasures will stop us,” said General Raktapan, his six bloodied arms crossing over his chest.
“Lord Phillip,” another demon knelt, his single cyclopean eye glowing red. “Even if the war God grants them aid, do you truly think they will stand a chance against our sixty-nine million strong demon army?”
Phillip’s smile widened into a cruel smirk. “The war god won’t dare. I have seen nothing but desperation. They are gathering their forces like lambs in a pen, waiting for the slaughter. Let them come,” he said, raising his goblet. “For in three days, the Blood Moon will rise, and when it does, we will descend upon them like a storm of death.”
Yet, despite his bravado, one thing still remained unknown to him—the true reason for Kent’s absence. He had no idea that Kent was attempting to find a path to the Spirit World, to take the entire army away before the Blood Moon rose. The irony was lost on him, but time was running out.
Back at the Devil Mountain, the armies of the Nine Realms stood restless. The banners of different factions fluttered in the wind as warriors sharpened their weapons and practiced their spells.
Among them were dragons from the Zi clan, fierce sorceresses of the Thirteen Elders, war prisoners turned battle-hardened warriors, and wizards who had once served the 9 Realms Association but now pledged their allegiance to Kent.
Yet, they all had one thing in common—eager anticipation to see their commander rise from his shadow and lead them into battle.
Little did they know, Kent wasn’t preparing for war. He was preparing to leave the battlefield entirely.
–
Devil Mountain Valley… Near The Ritual Site…
Even though the idol of the Three-Phased God remained motionless, something else was awakening. Deep within the heart of the Devil Mountain, a presence long forgotten began to stir.
The tomb of an ancient being, sealed within the mountain’s core, trembled as Kent’s ritual sent vibrations through the land. The scriptures he recited, meant to summon a god, instead resonated with the slumbering entity buried beneath the mountain. It was as if Kent’s prayers were knocking on the wrong door.
A chilling breeze swept through the mountain as the atmosphere thickened with an unexplainable weight. The once chaotic winds around Devil Mountain had stilled, the dark clouds overhead no longer swirled aimlessly but rather formed a strange spiral above Kent.
The very mountain, which had stood as a beacon of corruption for centuries, was undergoing an irreversible transformation.
The beasts that had always lurked in the shadows, spectral panthers, one-eyed apes, and six-horned deer, all gathered at the base of the cliff where Kent performed his ritual. Their glowing eyes fixated on him as if drawn to a force they did not understand. Even the magical beings of the mountain, usually hostile and wild, stood in eerie silence, watching him with an almost reverent gaze.
Still, Kent remained unaware of these changes. His mind was focused solely on completing the ritual. He was surrounded by an aura of chaotic peace, a paradoxical state where destruction and harmony intertwined. The golden scriptures hovering before him glowed dimly, each verse carrying the weight of an era.
But at the heart of the Devil Mountain, something far older than Kent, older than the Nine Realms, was beginning to stir.
–
The night passed, and the sun rose on the thirty-third day, the final day of the ritual.
Kent’s heart pounded against his chest. If today passed without a response, then the Blood Moon would rise, and the fate of the Nine Realms would be sealed. He knew it. He had been warned. Failure was not an option.
Gritting his teeth, Kent increased the intensity of his chanting, his voice shaking the ground beneath him. Sweat dripped from his brow as he shifted into a forbidden position—standing on his head, balancing all his weight on the single point of a jagged rock. The very act was considered an insult to the gods, a gesture of defiance and desperation all in one.
The energy surrounding him crackled violently, golden embers dancing through the air as the mountain itself seemed to resist his efforts.
Suddenly, Kent felt a presence.
Not from the heavens. Not from the scriptures.
But from the distance.
Opening his eyes slightly, he saw an old man standing at the edge of the ritual site, watching him with an amused smile.
The figure was ancient yet radiated an inexplicable youthfulness. His hair, tied in a high bun like a coiled pagoda, shone like silver silk. His beard, long and flowing, reached down to his bare chest. His skin, untouched by time, glowed like the morning sun. And though he wore nothing but simple robes, his presence alone commanded authority beyond any mortal being.
His gaze locked onto Kent’s with a knowing smirk. He did not speak, nor did he approach. He simply stood there, watching, waiting.
Kent, still balanced upside down, furrowed his brows. Could this be the Three-Phased God? Or was it someone else?
The old man chuckled softly, his voice like the whisper of time itself. He lifted a single hand and traced something in the air—an intricate, glowing pattern that resembled the cosmic cycle of creation and destruction.
A deep silence fell upon the mountain. The beasts watching from below knelt. The skies above stilled. The air itself became thick with anticipation.
Then, in a voice as ancient as the world itself, the old man finally spoke:
“You’ve called, and I have come. Let’s see if you are worthy.”
A golden light surged from behind him, and with that, the mountain trembled once more.
Kent took a deep breath, knowing that he stirred something dangerous.
–
Note: 2 Bonus chapter will be released tomorrow. Thank “@aaaninja” in the chat guys.