Bloody Odyssey

"I come today to my brothers and sisters of Fall."

Dax's voice echoed across the nation — calm, measured, yet carrying a weight that pressed against every ear, every heart, every soul.

"You are needed. Come and witness the end of the Blood River."

He spread his arms apart. The holographic figure pulsed with light, casting long shadows across the streets of Bertha, across the courtyards of the House of Fall, across the hidden chambers where powerful men and women watched with bated breath.

"They have bathed in the blood of our clansmen. And the world just watched us die."

His voice hardened, filled with cold fury.

"They said we were bloodlusted monsters. They said we deserved to die."

"I will not watch my brethren die anymore."

A pause. The silence stretched like a wire about to snap.

"This is my declaration of war."

In an instant, the holographic image shifted. Behind Dax, an angel appeared — shackled in parasitic flesh chains, bent into a kneeling position. His red wings stretched out, pinned and bound, unable to move. The chains pulsed with an unnatural life, worms of darkness burrowing into his flesh.

This brought deep shock to the hearts of many.

The Emperor rose to his feet.

It can't be.

His golden-brown eyes widened. For the first time, emotion cracked through the mask of indifference.

Many powerful beings shivered, faltering at the presence of the bound celestial.

In the House of Fall, Omin and his father — the Ancestor — walked out of their manor with bewildered expressions.

This child…

Omin's jaw tightened.

Isn't this a bit too much?

The Ancestor said nothing. But his hands, clasped behind his back, trembled slightly.

The folks of the House all watched with rapt attention. Guards. Servants. Goblins. Even the children who had been playing in the courtyards now stood frozen, their eyes fixed on the sky.

Dax continued.

"This is the Fifth Apostle of the Blood River."

As he spoke, the angel reconnected with the world's mana. Slowly, his red wings began to fall off, producing maggots that writhed and squirmed. The decay spread across his form like a disease given life.

"And also… the Angel of Rot."

The angel stretched his hand forward.

I'm back.

He looked behind himself — just to see Dax standing there, watching him with cold, patient eyes.

With a thought, the angel flapped his wings to escape. But he was pulled back by the hair in seconds — the parasitic chains anchoring him in place.

Dax's smile didn't waver.

"Like I've said, my brothers and sisters… this is war. And we are not losing."

The whole empire watched as the angel flapped his wings desperately, still unable to separate his hands from his back, bound by the parasitic chain worms created by Zero.

This display was an utter abomination to the heavens.

Somewhere else, the Church of Light watched with gritted teeth and clenched fists. Their holy men stood in silence, their prayers dying on their lips.

This didn't exclude the hidden bases of the Blood River. They watched with terror in their hearts.

At first, it was fear that their location would be exposed. But they noticed the image didn't look at them. It was focused on one thing only.

The angel.

Seeing the image of the battered Fifth Apostle terrified them.

If they could do this to an angel — they didn't want to imagine worse.

"Let us begin the war."

Dax's smile was beautiful. It brought out his demonic pristine — the elegance of something that had long since stopped pretending to be human.

"With the death of an angel."

On his vacant hand, Cil appeared. The blade was raised to the direction of the sun, catching the light, gleaming with hunger.

The angel struggled. His wings flapped. His body convulsed.

Dax filled him with enigmatic matter. Then reversed it, transforming it into dark matter — a force that crumbled him from within.

He pulled forcefully.

Piercing his blade through his back.

The angel coughed out a mouthful of blood that splattered across the ground, across the chains, across Dax's robes. Cil hummed joyfully — a sound that was almost musical, almost grateful.

(Meuzebath, alziga kija nafume sis nakembe.)

The angel's lips moved. Ancient words. A prayer to the Father of Blood.

Father of Blood, I am begging you. You see my suffering. Please — don't let me die here like an ant.

His wings flapped terribly. But he was stuck in place, unable to move, unable to escape.

Gently, Dax pulled his blade from the angel's back.

He moved to his front. His red eyes met the angel's trembling gaze.

"I want you to see just who killed you."

A pause.

"There is no god coming for you."

The angel's eyes trembled in imminent fear.

He remembered that strange place. The place where gods did not exist.

It was hell.

I remember the hands of a terrible demon playing with my soul. I experienced the death of my body in that world. But like hell, that place didn't let me die.

I wanted nothing more than death.

Then I entered his hands. On reading my memories — on reading the memories of this mortal — the gremlin smiled at me.

That was the beginning.

He made me eat myself. For eating those children.

Ooh, the pain. Ahh, I still remember. But… I couldn't help myself.

I even saw my student being invaded by millions of creatures — all entering one body as he spasmed. It was a horror.

So he believed when Dax said no god was coming to save him.

"This is my loss."

The battered creature stopped struggling.

With one last look, he tried to beg.

"Plea—"

Dax stabbed into his neck.

Swinging his sword without hesitation, before the sparks of life could leave his eyes, Dax raised the neck of the angel. Then he began to saw with his blade.

Slow. Deliberate. Ceremonial.

"I will bathe in the blood of the Blood River."

Dax raised the severed head. He anointed himself with the blood of the angel — painting his face, his robes, his hands in crimson.

"Blood River." His voice dropped to a whisper — but everyone heard it. "I will find you. I assure you. Even if you hide in caves, or in the ground, or in the stars for all I care…"

He smiled.

"There is no escape."

At the end of his words, his figure vanished like he was never there.

Only silence remained.

In the House of Fall, loud cheers and tears filled the clan.

Clansmen embraced. Servants wept. Even the goblins — those strange, modified creatures — raised their fists to the sky and howled.

He did it.

He declared war on the Blood River and killed an angel.

The Ancestor watched his grandson's image fade. His old heart beat faster than it had in decades.

Omin stood beside his father, his expression unreadable.

My son.

What have you become?