A heavy silence clung to the air, thick and suffocating, as if the very atmosphere had been drained of life.
Asael and his group stood frozen, their gazes locked onto Morris.
His words from before lingered, pressing down on their chests like an invisible weight.
A question unspoken, a revelation yet to be understood, loomed between them.
Then, suddenly, Morris let out a sigh and shrugged, breaking the tension as if it had never existed.
"Hmm… anyway, I''m done with my questions. Now, tell me—how can I help you?"
Asael hesitated.
For the first time in a long while, he wasn’t sure what to ask.
The shadows of uncertainty wrapped around him, tightening like unseen chains.
Morris’s words still echoed in his mind, yet another part of him knew they had to move forward.
They had come here for answers, and hesitation would only drown them deeper in the unknown.
Steven stepped forward, his voice the first to cut through the uneasy quiet.
"Can you show us your village?"
Morris tilted his head, a faint smile playing at the edges of his lips.
"Sure. Follow me."
And with that, he turned and began to walk.
---
As the last embers of daylight vanished beyond the horizon, the world surrendered to the night.
The sky deepened into a vast, endless void of indigo, where only the moon dared to shine, a lone sentinel in an ocean of darkness.
The forest stirred.
The wind whistled through the towering trees, their skeletal branches swaying like specters whispering ancient secrets.
The distant hoot of an owl punctuated the eerie stillness, while unseen creatures rustled in the undergrowth, their presence felt more than seen.
Asael and the others followed Morris, their footsteps muffled by the damp earth.
Every step forward felt like a descent into something unseen, something waiting beyond the veil of night.
The only light came from the fire torch they carried, its feeble glow casting flickering shadows that twisted and danced against the trunks of gnarled trees.
The darkness pressed in from all sides, thick and suffocating, as if the forest itself was watching them.
Then—
Through the dense veil of trees, they saw it.
A village—or the remains of one.
The moment they stepped into the clearing, a cold breeze swept past them, carrying a scent so faint yet so haunting—ash and decay.
The village lay in ruin.
Time had devoured it, leaving behind only fragments of what once was.
Huts stood as hollow husks, their walls shattered, their rooftops collapsed into splinters.
Stone houses, once sturdy, now bore deep claw marks, as though something had ripped through them in a blind, merciless rage.
The earth beneath their feet was cracked and lifeless, the very soil seeming to mourn the ghosts that lingered here.
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A place that had once breathed with life now lay as a graveyard of memories.
Asael’s chest tightened.
He could almost hear it—the echoes of laughter, the soft murmur of conversations, the warmth of existence that had once thrived within these very ruins.
But now… there was only emptiness.
Anne took a step forward, her boots crunching against shattered wood.
Her eyes scanned the remains, searching… for what, she wasn’t sure.
Then—she stopped.
Her breath hitched, and she pointed.
"Hero, look!"
They turned their eyes toward what she had seen—a broken stone wall, standing tall against the ruins, defying the decay that had consumed everything else.
It was ancient, cracked by time, yet its carvings were still strikingly vivid.
Symbols. Drawings.
A forgotten language, etched deep into the stone with unwavering precision.
"What is this?" Asael murmured, stepping closer.
Morris moved forward, his fingers—pale, almost ghostly—trailing over the carvings with a reverence.
"These are symbols related to the Abyss God."
Asael studied the wall, his brow furrowing.
Something about it felt wrong.
It was more than just the weight of history.
It was something deeper, something… alive.
And then, his gaze caught another carving.
A creature—no, a monstrosity, carved with such intricate detail that even in stone, it seemed to pulse with hunger.
It was an abomination.
Multiple hands. Multiple eyes. Rows upon rows of jagged teeth.
Its mouth stretched wide—unnaturally wide.
And it was devouring everything.
The ground. The sky. The very fabric of existence itself.
Surrounding it were winged figures, armed with weapons of divine craftsmanship, their stances desperate as they tried to contain the horror.
Asael felt a chill creep through his veins. His fingers curled into fists. His breathing shallowed.
Because this thing—
It looked like the Demon King''s true form.
Only, more terrifying.
"What… is this?" Asael whispered, his voice barely escaping his lips. "Who is this?"
Morris’s expression darkened.
His eyes flickered with something ancient, something burdened by knowledge long untouched.
Then, he spoke.
"It is Gluttony."
The name itself felt like a curse, each syllable laced with centuries of fear and devastation.
"One of the Abyss God''s forms—or rather, one of His egos."
The air grew colder.
Morris continued, his voice dropping into something barely above a whisper.
"It is said that Gluttony was so hungry… that it tried to eat the earth itself."
A gust of wind tore through the ruins, rattling the bones of the dead village.
Leaves swirled in the moonlight like lost souls, drifting, searching.
"The gods fought to stop it. They waged a battle beyond human comprehension."
Morris''s gaze gleamed under the cold silver glow of the moon.
"And somehow, they succeeded."
But Asael couldn’t look away from the monstrous carving.
Asael’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at the grotesque carving on the wall.
His fingers twitched at his side, his pulse hammering in his ears.
The jagged lines, the monstrous form, the devouring hunger captured in its hollowed-out eyes—he knew it all too well.
It was too familiar.
A memory clawed its way to the surface, one he wished he could forget.
The stench of burning flesh.
The screams of the dying.
The oppressive weight of a presence so vast, so all-consuming, that it threatened to crush the very air from his lungs.
"It resembled the Demon King’s true form."
The words left his lips in a whisper, barely audible, yet they sent a chill through the room.
Morris’s expression darkened.
He cast a sidelong glance at Asael, and for a fleeting moment, something flickered in his eyes—concern, maybe even fear.
Then he exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the weight of an unspoken burden.
“Then that’s a big problem.”
His voice was light, almost casual, but the tension beneath it was unmistakable.
A silence followed, thick and suffocating.
Morris’s next words dropped like a stone in Asael’s gut.
“Because, except for divine attacks, Gluttony is not affected by any other attack.”
A deep, gnawing dread settled in Asael’s chest.
His fingers clenched into fists, his knuckles white.
Damn it.
A murmur of unease rippled through the group.
No one spoke, but their shifting stances, the way some glanced toward the exit as if considering escape, spoke volumes.
If that thing was anything like Gluttony…
How were they supposed to fight it?
It was overwhelming.
It was impossible.
Asael forced himself to take a slow breath, pushing the panic down.
His mind raced, clawing for something—anything—they could use.
He couldn’t afford to let fear take hold.
After a long pause, he exhaled sharply and shook his head.
“By the way, do you know any weaknesses of Tores?”
Morris regarded him for a long moment, his gaze unreadable.
Then, with a tilt of his head, he spoke.
“Well, I think you shouldn’t give him time to cast his spells.”
His voice was even, calm, but there was something else lurking beneath it—a warning.
“And my suggestion?” Morris’s lips curved slightly, though it was far from a smile. “You don’t fight him at your current level.”
Asael stiffened. The words landed heavier than he expected.
“You all wouldn’t stand a chance.”
His jaw tightened.
“Why do you think so?”
Morris leaned slightly forward, the glow of the moon catching the edges of his otherworldly form, making him seem even more unsettling than usual.
“Do you remember that three-headed ogre?”
Asael frowned, his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword.
“Yeah… what about it?”
Morris’s next words sent an icy shudder down his spine.
“Well, it was created by Tores. He used ogres as sacrifices to make it.”
A cold weight settled in Asael’s stomach.
Created?
That thing—its overwhelming strength, its unnatural regeneration, the way it had nearly crushed them beneath its claws—wasn’t born, but crafted?
His heartbeat pounded in his ears. His fingers curled tighter around his weapon.
Morris continued, his voice smooth, but there was a grimness in his tone that made Asael’s skin crawl.
“And he must have more than just one or two of them.”
The room seemed to shrink.
The others exchanged uneasy glances, their faces pale. No one wanted to say it, but the truth was staring them in the face.
That thing had nearly killed them.
And Tores had more?
Worse—he made them as if they were mere tools.
It was madness.
The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.
Finally, Steven broke it, his voice hesitant. “Perhaps… we should approach from another side and avoid his territory?”
Asael’s shoulders sagged slightly. He hated it, but—
“Yes. You’re correct.”
They had no choice.
Charging into Tores’s domain would be nothing short of suicide.
They needed a plan. A different route. A way to fight on their own terms.
Asael turned back to Morris, his voice quieter now, more measured.
“By the way…” He hesitated, then forced the words out. “Can you not tell Tores about our meeting?”
Morris let out a low chuckle.
It wasn’t amusement.
It was pity.
“Sorry, that’s not possible.”
Asael’s breath caught.
“What?”
Morris’s expression remained unchanged, but there was something colder in his gaze now, something almost… detached.
“He already knows everything.”
A slow, creeping dread curled around Asael’s spine.
“Huh? What do you mean?”
Morris tapped his temple with a single finger.
“From the moment you met me… he was aware of you all.”
Asael’s blood turned to ice.
"You see, whatever my eyes sees, they are conveyed to him on their own."
The realization settled in like a death sentence.
His heart pounded against his ribs.
His hands shook.
They had been watched.
From the very start.
And now, Tores knew everything.