Chapter 564: 564

Before his current, more subtle machinations, Ikenga harbored an even more audacious plan. During his time in Zarvok Library, a repository of forbidden and obscure knowledge, he stumbled upon a fascinating grimoire. This ancient tome detailed a concept known as “space pocketing”: the creation of self-contained spatial constructs through specific spells or a profound understanding of spatial mechanics.

The book described space as a “self-healing cake.” Imagine cutting a large chunk from this cosmic confection. With the aid of certain rare materials, this excised piece of space could then be “stuffed” into the material itself, forming a miniature, isolated dimension.

Ikenga, ever the unconventional thinker, conceived of a far stranger, grander application. He realized that his own divine body, as an Origin God, was the ultimate material. His idea was to sever a massive chunk of space tha could fit the moon and stuff it into his other empty eye socket. This would transform his very being into a living, portable pocket dimension, a cosmic terrarium for his power.

His plan further evolved that once he began to establish the moon’s new, alien nature. Once complete, he intended to shrink the entire moon its new ecosystem, its elemental energies, and all the curses he was weaving into its core and put it into his eye alongside the captured space. He envisioned carrying an entire, fully functioning celestial body within his own being, a weapon and a sanctuary literally at his blink.

However, the sheer scale of such an act would generate an unfathomable magical disturbance, an anomaly so profound it would undoubtedly alert the mages even with his current curse meant to hide his presence.

His current plan involved a planetary sized curse, a grand, intricate working designed to bend the very fabric of space to his will. Ikenga began to pour the entirety of his focused divine essence into the lunar core. He wove a complex matrix of all his cursed knowledge into the moon’s nascent ley lines, linking its new, alien nature with his own profound cursed divinity.

He dubbed this ultimate working “The Tether of the Origin’s Reach.”

His goal was that this curse would transcend conventional spatial limitations. It wouldn’t just be a teleportation point; it would be a permanent, self-sustaining conduit directly to his essence. Once activated, any location within this system would become directly accessible and vice-versa. It would bypass the mages’ attempts to isolate him in the void, creating an invisible, unbreakable bridge between his newly forged domain and any battleground where he finds himself.

The curse was designed to be insidious and persistent. It would subtly warp the local spacetime around the moon, creating a constant, low-level resonance that only an Origin God could exploit. For the mages, it would merely appear as a strange, unreadable energy signature, if they even detected it at all. They would perceive the moon as just another celestial body, unaware that it was now a colossal, dormant spell waiting to be triggered.

As the last tendrils of his concentrated will infused the moon, the ethereal glow within its core pulsed once, then settled into a steady, almost imperceptible hum. The entire celestial body felt different, not just alive, but imbued with a latent, potent power. Ikenga had transformed a barren rock into his ultimate weapon and his personal gateway, ensuring that when the last clash came, the mages’ attempts to corner him would be futile. The moon, now his ultimate curse, awaited his call.

Ikenga’s physical form slowly rematerialized from the glowing moon, now a world transformed. He stepped onto a landscape vibrant with beautiful, luminescent plants and breathable, fresh air – a testament to his monumental act of creation. He felt utterly weary and drained, the deep exhaustion of channeling his essence into an entire celestial body weighing heavily on him. Yet, beneath the fatigue, he could already feel the gentle hum of his divine power revitalizing within him, the moon’s newly formed nature serving as a potent wellspring.

The exhaustion was too profound to fight. Ikenga performed an act he hadn’t indulged in for what felt like an eternity: he simply let himself fall backward, giving in to sleep. The planet, now imbued with his will and his very essence, responded. Before he even touched the ground, roots began to form and rise, weaving together with phosphorescent flora to gently cradle his falling figure. A makeshift, comfortable bed of living earth and soft, glowing leaves formed beneath him.

The land itself seemed to stir in sympathy. The ground subtly moved and shifted, conforming perfectly to his body. The newly established wind currents redirected themselves, not to buffet him, but to create a gentle, steady flow of air, cooling and comforting him as he lay there. Ikenga, aware yet on the very precipice of unconsciousness, simply surrendered to the profound rest, his eyes finally closing in a deep, well-deserved slumber.

While Ikenga surrendered to a well-deserved deep slumber, someone else was far from resting. In her hidden observatory, the mage had been increasingly troubled over the past few months. Her new posting, initially deemed dull and uneventful, had taken an alarming turn. She first noticed it as a subtle but undeniable surge in elemental forces emanating from the moon, an anomaly that sent a prickle of unease down her spine.

Her initial disquiet soon spiraled into a gnawing panic as she desperately searched for a cause, yet found absolutely nothing. This was the insidious power of Ikenga’s self-concealing curse at work, which, once his essence was absorbed, now cloaked the entire moon. To her trained magical sight, the moon looked precisely as it had months ago—a barren, inert celestial body. This was the curse’s true genius: if you didn’t know what you were looking for, it would expertly reinforce that ignorance. It subtly shifted perceptions, making the extraordinary appear mundane.

Even more unsettling was the curse’s secondary effect: should someone somehow know what they were seeking, the curse would then subtly manipulate their mind, causing them to forget what it was they were supposed to be looking for. It was a maddening, self-perpetuating illusion.

The mage’s only tangible lead, the abnormal elemental fluctuations, was something beyond Ikenga’s direct control, forces he had merely entreated rather than created. This raw, untamed energy was the only thread she could grasp in a tapestry of perfectly woven deception, and it was slowly but surely driving her to the brink of insanity. The moon, outwardly inert, was silently mocking her.

The mage, Elara, paced the confined space of her observatory, the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of her boots on the metal floor the only constant in a world that felt increasingly askew. For months, the subtle elemental surges from the moon had been a nagging unease, a discordant note in the otherwise predictable cosmic harmony. Now, it was a screeching cacophony in her mind.

She’d spent countless hours hunched over her arcane consoles, adjusting scrying lenses, running diagnostic spells, and poring over ancient lunar charts. Each analysis yielded the same maddening result: nothing. The moon remained, outwardly, a barren rock, precisely as the Empire’s records indicated. Yet, her sensitive instruments, tuned to the raw fabric of magic, screamed otherwise. The energy was real, undeniable, but its source was perfectly cloaked.

Elara’s gaze repeatedly drifted to the hologram displaying the moon’s surface, lingering on the peculiar, grotesque plant with its single, unblinking eye. Was that it? Could that strange flora be the root of the anomalies? It defied all known botanical classifications, and its very presence on the moon was an enigma. A lesser mage might have immediately jumped to that conclusion, but Elara was a scholar of the arcane, trained in the Empire’s rigorous methodology. She needed proof, something tangible and credible to present to the Arch-Mages if she were to report such an outlandish claim. Without it, her career, perhaps even her life, could be forfeit. Accusations of “seeing things” or “losing one’s mind” were common dismissals for those who brought back unsubstantiated reports of cosmic oddities.

The thought of leaving her observatory, of venturing out into the cold, silent void for a closer look, sparked a tremor of apprehension within her. The moon was a desolate place, even if her instruments weren’t screaming about it. And if the energy surges were indeed tied to that thing on the surface, what dangers might await her there? Her training emphasized caution, observation from a safe distance, especially when dealing with unknown magical phenomena.

To just jump out there, without a clearer understanding, felt reckless. She needed a theory, a shred of evidence beyond maddening fluctuations, before risking direct confrontation. The spectral energies continued to surge, subtly, relentlessly, driving Elara closer to her breaking point, trapped between her professional caution and the unsettling truth her instruments screamed at her.

Seven days later, Ikenga stirred. His long, profound rest had fully revitalized him, his divine power replenished by the unique nature of the moon he now embodied. He rose from the soft, luminous bed of roots and glowing flora, his form pristine once more, every ounce of his power restored. The moon pulsed gently around him.

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