Chapter 423: 423

This acceptance, this pact with the deity of the inverted realm, had irrevocably changed him. His eyes, once ordinary, now held the unsettling ability to pierce the veil between worlds, granting him full vision of the upside-down reality where the god’s counterpart held sway. As a creature of immense power, now bound as a zealot, Aska felt the precise moment his purpose would be revealed, the task laid before him.

The colossal serpent uncoiled from the pillar that had served as his resting place. His serpentine body, thick as a ship’s mast, surged upwards through the water, emerging from the grand palace built for him by his devoted followers: the amphibious Dorsaken and the surprisingly loyal Murlocs.

A deafening roar erupted from Aska’s maw, resonating through the underwater kingdom. The command, a vibrational pulse in the water, echoed across the realm. He settled back down, patiently waiting. Soon, the expanse outside his palace teemed with hundreds of thousands of Murlocs, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe and fervent devotion.

Aska’s immense form rose once more, his dark eyes, now shimmering with an otherworldly light, sending shivers down the spines of his assembled followers. Before they could react, thick, dark tears streamed from Aska’s eyes, tainting the clear water around him, enveloping every Murloc in their inky embrace.

With this grim task completed, Aska willed the transition. A wave of nausea washed over him, a sensation he loathed. He opened his eyes to the mirrored world. His Murloc army stood (or rather, floated) beside him, their expressions a mixture of fear and confusion.

The water here was a stark, unsettling black. Visibility was near zero; the forms of their companions were mere shadows in the oppressive gloom. But worse than the darkness was the palpable sense of being watched, the chilling certainty that unseen eyes were upon them.

Aska, his own eyes squeezed shut in disgust, refused to witness the horror that was about to unfold. From the inky depths, shadowy figures emerged, immaterial and swift. They flowed into the bodies of the Murlocs, possessing them without resistance, like phantoms slipping into empty shells. The takeover was swift and silent, leaving the Murlocs’ forms as puppets in the hands of an unknown, terrifying power.

The transformation was complete in chilling silence. The Murlocs, moments before a mass of anxious, chattering creatures, now stood unnervingly still. Their eyes, once bright and curious, were now dull and lifeless, reflecting only the oppressive darkness of the mirrored world. An unnatural stillness permeated the group, a stark contrast to their usual fidgety nature. It was as if their very essence had been replaced, leaving behind only empty husks.

Aska finally opened his eyes, the revulsion twisting his features. He gazed upon his transformed army, a wave of cold satisfaction washing over him, mingled with a deep, unsettling unease. They were no longer his Murlocs, not truly. They were vessels, extensions of the god’s counterpart, their loyalty now absolute, unquestioning, and terrifying.

He extended a clawed hand, the gesture hesitant, almost reluctant. The possessed Murlocs responded instantly, their movements jerky and unnatural, like puppets on invisible strings. They turned towards him, their vacant eyes fixed on his form with an unnerving intensity. There was no recognition in their gaze, no warmth, only a chilling emptiness.

Aska suppressed a shudder. This was the price of his pact, the cost of the power he now wielded. He had sacrificed his people, their individuality, their very souls, to serve a being he barely understood. The thought gnawed at him, a constant reminder of the darkness he had embraced.

He turned, his massive body shifting through the water, the possessed Murlocs following in his wake, a silent, spectral procession. He could feel the god’s counterpart’s presence, a cold, whispering voice in the back of his mind, guiding him, directing him towards his task. He knew what he had to do. He was a zealot now, a servant of the mirrored world, and he would carry out his master’s will, no matter the cost.

The journey through the dark waters was unsettling. The silence of his army was unnerving, the lack of their usual chatter and playful jostling creating an atmosphere of oppressive dread. Aska could feel the weight of their vacant stares, their unblinking focus on his every move.

He was leading an army of ghosts, a legion of empty shells controlled by a force beyond his comprehension.

The origin gods, finally freed from the immediate pressure of the rift, turned their attention back to the conflict below. Their expressions were grim. The respite was temporary; they knew the demigods were vulnerable, pinned down while they worked to secure the rune pillars.

Jaus watched the ghostly legion advance, his brow furrowed. “They have only just been recently born,” he echoed, his voice heavy with concern, “yet they know us too well.” The way the Zealots had transformed, each one a twisted reflection designed to exploit a specific demigod’s weakness, was a clear indication of a cunning, perhaps even familiar, mind at work.

Crepuscular nodded, a flicker of unease in his ancient eyes. “I can’t help but think of our brother Ikenga and his quirky thoughts,” he murmured. “If his counterpart happens to inherit any of his quirks…it will be a problem for both us and the demigods.” Ikenga, even among the origin gods, had possessed a unique, often unpredictable way of thinking. The possibility of that chaotic energy being replicated in their newly emerged counterparts was a worrying prospect.

Mahu’s eyes, usually filled with a quiet strength, flickered with a distant longing as Ikenga’s name was spoken. “I wonder how they are doing,” she said softly, almost to herself. “Have they gotten closer to the goal yet?” Her gaze drifted towards the horizon, as if she could pierce the veil of reality and see the progress of her other brethren.

Each of the origin gods understood the precariousness of the situation. The demigods, though powerful in their own right, were still young, untested in the face of such a calculated and insidious assault. They were now on their own, the origin gods unable to directly intervene while the rune pillars were being placed.

This was the unfairness of the whole situation. Their counterparts, it seemed, possessed a clear advantage, able to observe and strategize with a complete picture of the battlefield, while the origin gods remained blind to the enemy’s machinations. This disparity left them feeling vulnerable, forced to react hastily to whatever new threat was unleashed upon their progeny. They were fighting a war with one hand tied behind their backs, their movements hampered by their inability to perceive the full scope of the conflict.

This very imbalance underscored the critical importance of the rune pillars. “It will equalize the play,” Jaus rumbled, his voice echoing with a newfound urgency. “With each side no longer being aware of the other’s plans, we will no longer be fighting at a disadvantage.” The placement of the pillars wasn’t just about sealing the breach; it was about leveling the playing field. It was about breaking the unseen connection that allowed their counterparts to anticipate their every move.

Crepuscular nodded, his expression grim. “Indeed,” he agreed. “The enemy has used our sight against us, turning our awareness into a weapon. By severing that connection, we reclaim our strategic advantage.”

He clarified, a hint of bitterness in his voice, “It’s not that we are blind to the other world entirely. We can see it, but it is a desolate, barren place. Watching it yields nothing of strategic value. It’s a static canvas, offering no insights, no tactical advantage. Their world, however,” he gestured with a sweeping hand, “is vibrant, dynamic. Every move we make, every subtle shift in our defenses, every flicker of our power – they see it all. They have turned our very awareness against us, using it to anticipate our actions and counter our strategies.” The unfairness of it stung. They were forced to fight blind, while their counterparts enjoyed a clear, unobstructed view of their every move. It was like playing a game where the opponent could see your hand while you were forced to play in the dark.

Down on the eastern continent, Ikem felt the nearness of his goal. But the sensation was abruptly cut short. He froze, a prickling unease crawling across his skin. His senses, usually stretched for miles, could detect nothing concrete, no physical presence to explain the sudden threat that loomed over him. It was as if the danger was an illusion, a phantom sensation.

Yet, the chill that permeated his body, coupled with Bara’s urgent warning echoing in his mind, confirmed the reality of the threat. A jolt of memory shot through Ikem – the same chilling dread he’d felt in his youth, at the very beginning of his journey, when he first encountered the panther. This feeling, however, was magnitudes stronger, more terrifying.

A wave of urgency washed over him. Ikem’s voice boomed outwards, reaching his grandchildren who trailed behind him, guarding his path. “The enemy is here! Remember the training for Upside Do—”

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