Chapter 669: 669

He had long dismissed many of its peculiarities as mere bestial instinct, the twitch of an ear before unseen danger, the subtle bristle of fur when magic stirred in the air. Such things were common among magical creatures, after all. He thought little of it.

But now, standing before the heart of his realm with the truth pressing against his divine awareness, Krogan realized how wrong he had been.

Those instincts were not primitive at all. They were refined, intentional latent magical talent, woven into the very nature of his current form.

Even before he had mastered it, the jaguar’s senses seemed almost preternatural, able to detect shifts in magic, to feel danger long before it manifested. If it were mere instinct, he would not have picked up a danger yet to come.

Krogan, having traced the source of his constant sense of danger, sighed with relief.

It was the same heart that had once corrupted forests and twisted lands into the cursed, chaotic domains Murmur had claimed. And now… it pulsed at the very core of Krogan’s pocket dimension, the center of the domain he had built to shield himself from the world.

For centuries, Krogan had believed himself in complete control. He had sealed the heart away, using its energy to fuel his power, to strengthen his dominion, to construct his defenses, and to elevate himself to a god. Every triumph, every advance, he had assumed was the product of his own will ,fueled and safeguarded by the treasure he had guarded so jealously.

But with Murmur’s disappearance, the truth revealed itself in stark clarity: he had been wrong.

Krogan’s initial instinct had been to destroy it, to sever this living connection to the Demon King. But when he attempted to act, he discovered the horrifying truth: the heart was entwined with his very being. Every thing he had built, every pulse of his pocket dimension, every ounce of his power flowed through it. It was the foundation of everything he had become.

He laughed then, a low, bitter sound, shaking his jaguar body. For centuries he had guarded it like a treasure, never allowing anyone to approach, never questioning the danger he thought he controlled.

Krogan’s claws dug into the ground as he paced through the shifting terrain of his domain, his mind racing. If he could not purge or dominate the heart, then how had Murmur who had vanished, who had been lost to him, managed to get control of the heart?

Krogan had no idea where to begin, only that he had to act quickly.

The heart, apart from serving as a source of power and stability, held no other value to him now. It was a parasite disguised as a core, and as long as it remained within him, he would never truly be free.

Yet removing it was no simple matter. The heart had become the keystone of his entire existence, his dimension, his energy reserves, even his magic all revolved around it. To rip it out would be to unravel everything he had built, perhaps even destroy himself in the process.

And there was another concern, one that chilled him more than the rest: Would Murmur, now hidden and operating from some unseen place, allow him to act freely?

Krogan doubted it. The Demon King’s silence was a far more dangerous weapon than his rage had ever been.

So Krogan decided to gamble everything on a single act.

He turned his full attention to his coming ascension, a chance not only to rise as a god, but to sever the last tie binding him to Murmur.

If he succeeded, he could kill two birds with one stone.

When a creature ascends, the Will of the World itself manifests to acknowledge the new divinity, presenting the ascendant with a Godthrone, a godhead that serves as the anchor of their realm and the vessel of their true power.

If Krogan could reach that point, he could use the world’s own order to his advantage. The Godthrone, a crystallization of divine recognition and cosmic authority would replace Murmur’s heart as the core and power source of his domain.

But even as this revelation struck him, Krogan understood what it truly meant. Power never came without price, and in this case, the cost was steep.

Once his divine realm emerged, he would lose sovereignty over his pocket dimension.

It was not merely a personal sacrifice but a consequence of the oldest law that governed the hierarchy of existence:

“The mortal and the divine may not dwell within the same breath of being.”

A god’s essence distorted mortal reality. Should Krogan’s divine realm fuse with his dimension, now home to countless magical beasts and lesser beings. the result would not be coexistence but dirstion of his essence on mortal creatures. His very presence would warp the balance, turning his living sanctuary into a gilded prison of divine will.

And so, the world itself would forbid it. His realm would overlap, not merge, its surface visible to him only through a mirror of divinity. He could watch his generals move, his beasts roam, but never again walk among them as he once did.

The realization struck him with the cold clarity of a blade.

What if this was Murmur’s true intention all along?

To force him into this position, isolated, cut off from his court and his people, trapped within the gilded confines of divinity.

The more he thought on it, the more it made sense. The heart, so conveniently compatible with his power; the subtle influence that drove him to expand his dimension; the ease with which the corruption had hidden from his senses.

Murmur’s cunning had always been to twist strength into weakness, to turn creation against its master. And now, Krogan could see the trap laid bare before him: To ascend and become strong enough to sever the heart but in doing so, to lose everything that made him who he was.

A snarl escaped his throat, a deep, guttural sound that shook the walls of his growing dimension.

No, He refused to let Murmur decide the terms of his ascension.

If the laws forbade gods from touching the mortal plane, then he would find another way to bind the two through covenant.

And thus, a daring plan began to take root in his mind.

He would offer his realm to the World Will itself. Not surrender it, but consecrate it, turning his pocket dimension into a world-sanctioned plane, beyond the reach of Murmur and those who has an eye for it.

That way, when his Godthrone manifested, it would replace the heart as the realm’s core while the dimension itself remained under the World Will’s jurisdiction.

He would still draw power from it, still guide it through his divine essence, but he would no longer own it. Instead, it would exist in balance: a realm of beasts sustained by the world’s order and empowered through his godhood.

It was a dangerous move, one that no god before him had ever dared.

But as Krogan looked upon the pulsing red light of Murmur’s heart, its rhythm echoing like mockery through his domain, he bared his fangs in defiance.

“You would have me caged by my own divinity, Murmur,” he growled softly. “But I will make my cage the world itself.”

Days before his ascension, Krogan’s realm trembled as he made his preparations.

Every living creature within, the scaled, the furred, the winged, and the horned felt the pull of something vast stirring above them.

The skies of his pocket dimension darkened with light threads of golden radiance weaving through the endless canopy of his realm. The beasts grew restless; even his oldest generals bowed their heads in unease. They could feel the coming of something greater, something that was no longer meant for their world alone.

Krogan stood at the heart of it all, upon the great lake where Murmur’s heart buried underground, beat faintly beneath layers of enchanted runes. It had once been his prize, the source of his power and creation. Now, it was a curse he would be rid of.

As he raised his clawed hand, the runes blazed to life, forming concentric rings of light and shadow that climbed the air like chains uncoiling toward the sky. The world around him quaked, and for a moment, he felt the Will of the World watching.

“Great Will of this world,” Krogan spoke, his voice echoing through the layers of his dimension, reaching every beast that breathed in his realm. “I offer to you my realm, born of mortal soil yet sustained by divine breath. Let it be yours to govern, that balance may endure.”

The golden threads of light pulsed in response, descending like rain that shimmered through his fur. He could feel his essence being pulled upward, drawn toward a higher plane. His body shook from the unbearable weight of recognition.

The world itself was answering.

“In exchange,” he continued, his voice roughening as the divine energies surged through him, “grant me dominion not over this realm, but through it. Let its life and strength flow to me, as my essence flows to it, so that I may guide without ruling.”

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