Avenor tensed at the hiss, but the surge of energy that followed struck harder than the sound. The Mother's massive frame convulsed against the tree, twisting in violent spasms as one of the two remaining diagrams overhead ignited. A foul mist poured down, thick and caustic, settling over the nest like a dome of dark green haze.

The stench burned Avenor's lungs, his eyes watering until tears traced down his cheeks. Still, through the haze, he saw the runes branded on the creature's flesh, silver lines glowing as if seared into its hide. They scorched, they smoked, yet the Mother uttered no scream. Instead, ichor glistened between its needle-like teeth, its unblinking eyes locked on him.

Avenor's gaze darted around. Muscles coiled, both hands tightening around the hilts. Every nerve was strung taut, waiting for release.

"Is this all? Poison mist that burns eyes?" he thought, confused.

"KILL… ALL… ELVES…" The rasp dragged out of the Mother's throat again, muffled by ichor and spit.

That was enough. He had measured the spell's reach; waiting longer would only yield the initiative. He moved.

The ground split beneath his step, pebbles scattering in the force of his launch. His form cut through the haze, blades leaving mirrored arcs of green as they caught the diagram's glow. He crossed the distance in seconds.

The Mother did not react. Bound tight to the trunk of the tree, its torso shifted only slightly, eyes following the twin arcs of steel as they crossed into an X aimed for its chest.

The strike landed. But the blades did not bite into flesh. They crashed against a barrier that rippled across its skin, darker than a shadow and twice as hard as forged iron.

Shock waves bit through his wrists, pain stabbing so sharply his grip faltered. He wrenched himself back, boots skidding across the web-covered floor to give space. For an instant, his blades felt alien in his hands, their weight wrong, as if his body itself begged him to release them.

"Verde, I might need your help. I don't think my attacks will ever harm this thing…" he called. But even before his words, I was already searching for the answers.

Guidance.

[Veil of the Night (Altered)]

A protective barrier born of the Night Domain. In its original form, it shields against all physical attacks. This altered version grants absolute protection against both magical and physical attacks of Platinum rank or below.

It was clear now - the skill the creature was using belonged to the Night God. But I didn't have time to consider how that power had slipped into its grasp. The Velmoryn needed me now.

Akrion pressed forward through the carnage. Four warriors formed a wall around him, dark metal armor caked with gore, shields battered and bent from repeated blows. Their formation was tight, every step coordinated to keep the Vael moving toward the nest's heart where Avenor clashed with the Mother.

"Vael Akrion! Where are you going? We need you here!" Lyle's voice cut through the chaos. She leaned heavily on her twin blades, both buried to the hilts in the cracked skull of a spider mutant. Rising slowly, her movements lacked their usual grace, her stance a patchwork of exhaustion and stubbornness.

Akrion didn't spare her a glance.

His guards took another hit - one staggered as mandibles scraped across her dented shield, blood finding its way through the seams of his armor. Still, they held formation, forcing the creatures back with heavy shoves and stabs.

"We must be the ones to kill the Mother!" Akrion roared, eyes fixed on the dark green dome in the distance. He caught sight of the faltering guard, slowing under her own bleeding weight. "You trained for this! You live for this! Prove your loyalty!"

The warriors answered with a guttural roar, slamming their blades on their shields. Their eyes burned through the slits of their helms with renewed resolve.

That was when the next threat appeared - two of the giant spider mutants, charging fast. Their legs gouged furrows in the stone, eyes fixed on the injured guard.

"Ariel, you go!" Akrion barked the instant he registered their approach.

The warrior at the rear broke formation.

She tossed aside shield and sword, her hands already clutching a medallion with a skull carved with runes, the bone cracked near the eye socket, her own blood staining the pale gray. She limped ahead, holding it aloft as mana bled from her body into the carvings. The runes came alive, flaring black one after another.

I knew that aura too well. The skull was meant to bridge into the Night God's domain, to draw out the same devouring power I had witnessed before.

But this time the darkness did not swell. It dimmed, stuttered and vanished.

The sudden stillness was louder than any roar. Ariel froze mid-step, staring at the dead bone as if it had betrayed her. A desperate gasp escaped her lips, raw disbelief written even through the cover of her helm.

"What are you waiting for?" Akrion snarled, already approaching Ariel, who stood rooted in place as if the ground itself had bound her.

"They… didn't answer my call," she muttered, never taking her eyes from the medallion still dangling from her extended hand.

"What?" Akrion's hand shot forward, ripping the amulet from her grip with such force that the strap snapped. He shoved it into the gauntlets of another guard. "You try it!"

The warrior didn't hesitate. Mana surged from him, enveloping the medallion, but nothing happened. The runes carved into the skull stayed dull, the bone no more than brittle ivory. No shimmer, no response of power.

Akrion froze. His jaw clenched so tight the muscles in his cheek jumped. He didn't have the luxury to brood on it. The two spider mutants were already upon them, their legs tearing through broken bodies as they scuttled closer.

He clicked his tongue and drew the greatsword from his back. The steel rasped free, massive in his grip. Mana coursed down its length until the edges burned with pale silver, a column of light spearing upward from the blade's tip. Against the suffocating dark green gloom of the nest, it shone like a beacon.

"Blue Tribe, gather around your Vael!" His roar rolled across the battlefield, iron and fury mingling in every word.

"What in the hells are you doing?" The voice was sharp, feminine, cutting through his battle cry. Akrion's head snapped to the side.

Shelya was there, blood-soaked and furious. Her robe hung in tatters, clinging to her curves as monster gore slicked her skin. Her dark hair clung wetly, plastered down her back in thick strands. She looked like she had clawed her way through hell itself.

"You raise that skill and dare speak to me so?" Akrion's nostrils flared. He held the sword high, mana vibrating along the steel, then exhaled through his teeth and lowered the blade on the ground. "That creature must die by my hand. If that God claims it, the entire forest will fall under His domain."

The words stalled Shelya. Anger sharpened her features at first, but hesitation followed, lips parting then closing as the meaning cut through. She turned, scanning the chaos of the battlefield.

Corpses of Velmoryn lay scattered in heaps, being trampled under monsters' legs. Her brows furrowed as she recognized the markings on some of their robes - they were her own.

Her gaze swept wider. The other Vaels still fought, clinging to the last of their strength. Dariel's chest fur was matted with blood, some green, some red, his body a patchwork of cuts and gashes. Mirion had already activated his Feral Surge, fighting apart from the others so his wild swings would not cut friends together with foes. He faced two hulking monsters at once, his movements heavy, slowing with every strike.

Othrien no longer channeled his mana into his staff to cast; his magical energy was spent. He barked orders instead, holding and coordinating his circle of mages together by will alone. His skin shimmered faintly blue from the potion being absorbed through his veins, but the recovery would be slow.

Further off, a blaze of crimson scorched her vision - the giant red diagram burning overhead, and beneath it, Ninali. She hurled fire that boiled creatures alive inside their shells, even when it failed to split their armor. A nightmare for the spider mutants, yet she stood nearly alone, the swarm pressing toward her. The line meant to guard her had collapsed, shields and swords nowhere to be seen.

Shelya's jaw tightened. The Blue Tribe warriors who should have been holding that line were gone, already breaking ranks, answering their Vael's call. They ran toward Akrion, leaving their comrades to be overrun.

Her eyes hardened. Disgust curled her lip, a silent snarl.

And then her gaze caught on the figure blurring between pale-gray spiders near the dark green dome's sickly glow - Lucas. His scarlet blades gleamed through the haze, hair wild, crimson markings burning across his face. The sight of him seemed to have nudged her into a decision.

"You are right! We cannot allow that God to insult our Goddess any longer. I will cover your advance," Shelya said at last. "But you must swear, you will treat the Silver Tribe as an equal after the prevail."

"I swear," Akrion replied without hesitation, slamming a fist against his chest.

Shelya moved first. She vaulted high, red chains bursting into existence around her. They coiled at the giant spider's throat, tightening as if to bridle the beast. Its shrieks tore through the nest as she landed on its back, yanking the chains taut while the monster bucked beneath her.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Akrion chose the other. The hulking spider skittered toward him, ready to meet the Velmoryn who dared to challenge it.

He charged head-on, his greatsword trailing low behind him, the blade humming with mana. Just before the monster closed, he shifted his weight, one powerful step to the side, and let the momentum of his run carry the sword in a rising arc. The steel carved through one of its legs with a wet crack, severed joint collapsing under the beast's own weight.

The spider lunged anyway, its head thrusting forward, mandibles spread wide. Akrion planted his back foot, braced, and drove the sword forward like a spear. The tip plunged between its jaws, punching into the soft flesh of its throat. A muffled crunch echoed from within as blood poured over the blade.

The monster froze mid-lunge, legs jerking. Akrion twisted the sword once, then ripped it free in a spray of green fluid. The spider collapsed without even a final thrash.

He set a boot on the corpse and lifted his gaze toward Shelya. Her chains were brightening with each passing second, sucking the life force out of her foe while its frantic limbs scraped trenches across the floor. The creature's desperate cries echoed until they cracked into broken gurgles.

"Vael Akrion… our forces have arrived," Ariel's voice reached him. She stood nearby, head bowed, eyes lowered to the ground. Her shield and sword were back in her hands, though her posture carried shame.

Akrion looked past Ariel. More than seventy Velmoryn had gathered, blades, staffs, and bows ready, their ranks still ragged from the press. Yet the cost was written plainly across their line - the Blue Tribe had lost more than a third of its number. Most of the fallen were mages, crushed or torn apart as they forced their way toward their Vael, their bodies trampled in the tide.

"You will cover me while I advance into the nest," he declared and walked toward the ground where Shelya's chains still pinned the twitching husk of her kill.

Their destination was the heart of the clearing where Lucas had been cutting down the pale-gray spiders, the ones that served as the swarm's mind while the Mother was busy with Avenor. He had just finished another kill when he noticed the Blue Tribe and two Vaels moving toward him.

With Lucas hunting the pale spiders, the swarm could not be properly coordinated; because of that, Akrion had not run into much resistance. His path had been mostly clear, and only a handful of his men had taken losses. Akrion himself looked relatively fresh, having spent no more energy than he absolutely had to.

"Why are you here?" Lucas asked when they came close enough, keeping his distance as his scarlet eyes swept them.

"We've come to slay the creature inside, of course," Akrion answered smoothly, taking a step toward the green dome. "While you place your faith in your friend who seems in no hurry to finish his battle, we cannot let Velmoryn die needlessly."

Lucas' gaze didn't soften. His arms stayed coiled, ready, as if a wrong word might set him off. "You can't enter. I tried."

"We will see," Akrion snorted, voice hardening.

"I mean it, the mist burns the flesh," Lucas explained flatly. His eyes moved sideways as a fireball arced across the field and burst, flooding the place with a wave of heat. The shrieks of monsters followed.

Shelya turned at the blast, her lip caught between her teeth, face twisting in a mixture of shock and contempt. Akrion, however, was studying Lucas' words with a calculating stare.

"Burns flash… Ariel," he said.

The warrior stepped from the ranks, shoulders squared.

"You will redeem yourself by entering first," he ordered.

Ariel gave a stiff nod and advanced, her heavy boots sinking into the mix of webs and flesh that covered the ground.

Lucas' jaw tensed, but he made no move to stop her. He had already warned them; to him, their blood was on their Vael's hands.

The moment Ariel crossed the threshold her armor hissed, smoke rising from scorched metal. She screamed, the sound sharp, as skin blistered beneath the plates. The strap of her helmet tore, letting it slip free. Her face was twisted in agony, tears streaming down her cheeks. She looked back once, eyes pleading toward her Vael.

Akrion gave no order.

She forced another step, full of effort. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed, not even twitching as she hit the ground. Flesh rotted away in seconds, darkened armor sagging over the body that was already dissolving.

"You lied!" Akrion roared, snapping toward Lucas. Spittle flew with his words, his greatsword shifting forward. "You've never been inside, else you'd be dead!"

Lucas dropped his weight, blades rising. His scarlet eyes never left Akrion as his muscles tensed.

"I did no such thing," he said, mouth curled in disgust.

The two stood there, one trembling with fury, the other taut with readiness, when Shelya's voice cut through, sharp enough to drag every gaze inside the dome.

"How is he alive…"

Her eyes were locked on Avenor.

The fight between Avenor and the Mother was a strange one. Steel and divine power were both useless. Avenor's twin blades rang again and again, striking the dark barrier that covered the creature, yet every attempt was deflected without any harm.

The Mother answered with divine force, hurling waves of noxious green energy that burst against Avenor's chest, washing him in corrosive light. But the Hollow Core granted Avenor an overwhelming advantage. The power passed through him harmlessly, his body untouched.

They still showered each other with attacks, both striking without progress - two forces that could not wound each other.

Then the Mother tried once more. A sphere of green light bloomed in front of its needle-like teeth before it screamed and hurled the orb into Avenor's chest. It hit and burst, but again dissolved into nothing.

The Mother's eyes rolled, and its scream deepened into something more desperate. Hatred bled into every note, echoing through the cavern walls. And through the noise came words, twisted into sound.

"CHILDREN… COMEEE…"

But it was not the only one whose patience had finally broken.

From the moment I had discovered how the barrier protecting the creature worked, I knew none of my believers could defeat it. None of them was above Platinum Rank. Only my divine power could harm it, yet that path held its own dangers. Directly striking the apostle of another god would allow that deity to descend, or perhaps forbid me from using divine power in the mortal realm for a year, just like the God of Night and Moons.

Still, the battle had to end.

At first, I had considered the simplest answer: bringing Tekla here, letting her strike the final blow using my divine power. But Lucas had already shown me the danger of that green mist. Without the fruit of the Tree of Life, he would have been reduced to ash. I could not gamble Tekla's life so lightly.

So I chose another way.

For long minutes, I had been seeding my power into the cavern, little by little, unnoticed beneath the chaos. And now, it was time to use it.

Around the Mother's nest, the corpses of a dozen pale spiders stirred. Their broken forms rose, dragged as if by unseen hands, limbs tangling as crimson energy snaked through their carapaces. One by one their bodies folded inward, twisting into a grotesque sphere of bone and chitin.

The ball shrank in on itself, compacting, collapsing until it elongated into a thick rod. Then the shape thinned, flattened, edges sharpening under the weight of my will. A hilt formed. A blade followed.

It screamed as it bent into its new shape, and when the noise stilled, a newly formed longsword hovered in the air. Crimson glow licked along its edge, the light burning bright enough to cast shadows across the cavern floor.

Its not the best weapon… but it will do its job, and Gundir can reforge it later.

I willed the sword forward; it glided through the haze toward Avenor, crimson glow trailing across the sickly green mist.

For a moment, I braced for the red notification, the penalty I dreaded. Instead, the system pulsed blue:

[Warning: Creation consumed 100 Divinity Points!]

Avenor's head snapped toward the weapon as it struck the floor before him, the blade driving into the stone with a hiss. He recognized the energy instantly. His mouth curled into a thin smile.

"Thank you, Verde. I'm glad I trusted you," he whispered into my mind.

His own swords fell with a clatter as his hands wrapped around the hilt. The longsword thrummed under his grip, crimson light pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. Then he surged forward, the blade raised.

The Mother's eight eyes locked on the weapon at once. A scream tore from it, high-pitched and desperate, as though the mere sight of it hurt it. It hurled a sphere of green energy, but it dissolved uselessly around Avenor, powerless against the Hollow Core.

Then the last diagram above it flared. A blazing fireball, vast as three varnoks, formed and dropped from the air with a howl. The nest itself seemed to bow under the heat, red enveloping everything.

Avenor froze mid-stride. He knew the flames could not wound him - yet the sheer heat clawed at his skin, the air already boiling his lungs. His eyes looked for the shadows.

"Verde… I don't think I can survive this," he murmured, fingers tightening around the hilt as he readied to vanish.

Phantom Step.

The world folded, and he blinked away just as the fireball struck.

The ground convulsed. Green mist ignited like oil, the air itself exploding. A wall of heat and pressure ripped through the Mother's nest, tearing webbing from stone, shattering egg sacs. At the center, the Mother screamed in pain, though no words could be pulled from the roar.

Avenor had teleported behind the walls of spider eggs, thinking they would provide protection. And the barrier indeed spared him instant death, but the heat still reached him. Flesh blistered and blackened, armor stuck to skin. He collapsed to one knee, the longsword's hilt fused to his ruined hand. He could not even lift it.

His breath rasped, each one dragging strips of scorched flesh from his throat. With his one good arm he fumbled toward the Veilspace ring, forcing his fingers to obey. The artifact answered his call as the fruit of the Tree of Life appeared in his palm, gold and red against charred flesh.

He shoved it into his mouth, crushing it between his teeth. The pulp exploded, juices searing down his throat. His eyes watered as regeneration tore through him - first the skull knitting, sockets filling with eyes anew, nose and jaw reformed in spasms of pain. Cheeks swelled, lips sealed, sinew and muscle crawling back across his frame. His torso followed, raw tissue blooming over bone, while his arms and legs reformed last in twitching jerks.

When the light dimmed, Avenor stood. Breath heaving, body whole once more save for the missing hair, burned away without regrowth. But that was the least of his concerns.

He flexed his fingers, rolled his shoulders - every muscle answered. His gaze found the Mother.

It no longer screamed. Its swollen form clung to the tree in silence, as though ignoring the silver runes burning its body. The hatred that enveloped its eight eyes was no longer one-sided. Avenor's own glare matched it, every vein in his body filled with loathing.

He moved. Not with a run.

Phantom Step.

In a blink he was there, the blade already sweeping through the air in a wide arc aimed at its neck.

"KILL… ALL… ELVES…" The words tore from it in a final, jagged cry, threaded with hatred and despair.

The blade met the barrier. But then the crimson divine energy pressed on it, the edges of the blade vibrating. The barrier faded as though a cloth burnt by fire and the longsword bit deep into flesh. With a wet crack the head parted from the body, struck the ground, and rolled across the stone, ichor smearing its path.

Avenor did not stop.

He drove the sword into the torso, then ripped it upward. He carved another slash across its chest, diagonal, then another. He struck again and again, every swing a ragged gasp of fury. The body became a lattice of torn flesh, the trunk itself splattered with gore.

At last the sword's tip clanged against the stone floor. Avenor sagged against it, shoulders heaving, hands locked white around the hilt. Tears blurred his vision. His jaw clenched so hard his cry came muffled through his teeth, a broken sound more raw than any scream.

Then he collapsed, but not from exhaustion.

[Warning: Avenor has slain a soul belonging to another god.] [Warning: Avenor has slain an Apostle of another god.] [Warning: You've gained 1000 Divinity Points.] [...You may allow Avenor to use half of the Divinity Points to advance his Rank or…]

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