I Received System to Become Dragonborn Chapter 868: Spreading Chaos

Explosions kept ripping through the dense forest, echoing with thunderous violence across the valleys and hills.

Shockwaves from giant trees falling and huge chunk of lands tearing tore through the air. Trees shuddered and dust flew up in clouds of ash and splintered bark.

Each blast was followed by silence and then the sharp crack of more Magic igniting in rapid succession.

Rifts hissed and tore shut, their bleeding holes of void energy collapsing in on themselves.

More grey creatures fell, torn apart by fire, lightning, or crushing waves of earth power. Their numbers dwindled fast. Their once-relentless assault scattered like insects being scorchd with fire.

It was impossible not to notice all of that.

The noise carried for miles. Magic vibrated the ground and air. Those closest to the forest, the adventurers and travelers on nearby roads, felt the shift long before they understood it.

A group of adventurers stood by an outpost at the edge of the forest. One of them, a young man in partial armor, looked back toward the tree line. His skin had gone pale.

"What the hell was that?" he asked with trembling voice.

"Another big explosion of Magic," a second replied, gripping his axe tightly. "That's the fourth one in a minute."

"I can feel it," a Mage in their group said, holding her staff close. Her voice was low and tense. "The forest's filled with Magic. Too much of it. This shit is wrong, I tell you."

"Sothing's waking up," said the first man. "This ain't normal. That wasn't so adventurers fight. That's sothing else."

"Should we go check it?" another asked. But no one answered.

Instead, silence stretched as the ground rumbled faintly beneath them again. Sothing distant and huge is doing this and they didn't think they want to know it.

"I'm not getting paid enough to walk into a damn god war," the Mage muttered then turning away.

"I agree with her," said the axe-wielder. "We pack and leave soon. Before whatever's in there co to us."

More groups further away, even villages on the forest's outskirts, began to notice.

Animals were fleeing in droves. Birds were flying in chaotic patterns. The wind had changed. Magic buzzed unnaturally in the bones of those sensitive to it.

Panic wasn't far behind.

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Within the newly-transford temple, the chamber at its heart was suffused in green light, pulsing from the veins that ran through the stone like blood through a living body.

Three robed figures stood in a circle in one of the chamber. Their hands lifted slightly, palms hovering over a circular glyph etched into the ground.

The glyph was glowing but it was unsteady. Flickering like a dying fla.

The central figure, an older man with dark rings around his eyes and veins that glowed faintly beneath his skin, scowled.

"The flow is unstable," the older man muttered. "Sothing is interfering with the spawn of the Heralds!"

"They're being killed," said the second cult leader who was a man with silver tattoos spiraling down his arms after his robes were lifted. "I can feel them vanish one by one. The rifts are also closing before they reach full breach!"

"That should not be possible," growled the third, a younger man with short hair and cracked lips. "We built the bridge and perford the rites. The process was ant to continue smoothly."

The elder's brow tightened. "There's a force in the forest that we did not account for. Sothing is fighting back. This... disturbance is not random."

"Are they strong adventers?" the silver tattooed man asked. His voice carried a mix of curiosity and contempt.

"Perhaps," the elder said. "Or perhaps the forest itself is resisting. Either way, we must act. If the rifts all close the awakening of Thar'Zul-Vekar will be incomplete and not perfect."

"We've already fed the temple with hundreds of souls. That power can't be undone," the younger cultist said.

"No," the elder replied. "But it can be contained and delayed. And if that happens... we'll lose our chance to bring the Old One fully into this world."

"Then we must stop them!" the man said. His eyes narrowed. "We unleash the Golem Sentinels and send them now to crush whoever it is before they reach this temple."

"No," the elder replied sharply. "Not yet. The Sentinels will awaken when they approaching the templed. Not before. That is the contract of their awakening and their tasks from the start."

The younger cultist stepped back, looking toward the quaking walls of the temple.

"Then we should make the rifts remain long enough. Or we'll be surrounded before the god even wakes."

The elder's gaze flickered toward the glowing glyph again.

"Prepare the next ritual. If this world really has its capable defenders, then we must finish this before they find their way to this temple."

They moved quickly after the elder's order. The youngest cultist bowed and hurried out of the chamber.

When he returned, he was not alone. A young woman walked behind him barefoot, her cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders but unable to hide the brightness in her eyes.

Her expression was one of awe and pride. She looked around the chamber with barely concealed excitent.

"Is this it?" she whispered as she stepped forward, gazing up at the veins of green light crawling across the ceiling. "Will I be part of the awakening?"

"You will be more than part of it," the elder said with a rare softness in his voice. "You will beco the vessel of a great herald."

The woman's breath hitched, and she almost dropped to her knees in reverence.

"Which one?" she asked.

"The Bound Maw," answered the man with the silver tattoos. "The Warden of Vines. Her na is Orzhal-Kur."

She gasped, overwheld with the weight of it.

The elder raised both hands. "Prepare the circle."

The three cultists moved in unison. Candles ignited themselves with black fla.

The glyph on the floor stretched outward with new lines, twisting like roots. Symbols older than language reshaped the chamber's light. The scent of sulfur and iron thickened the air.

The young woman stepped willingly into the center of the glyph. Her breath was shaky now but her eyes were locked ahead in determination.

The elder began the chant that sounded more like stone grinding against stone. The air vibrated. The floor beneath the girl glowed with growing heat. Her feet began to lift slightly off the ground.

Then ca the second voice, the one with silver tattoos, harmonizing with the elder in discordant resonance. The symbols lit with a sickly orange now, burning through the green. And then the third cultist spoke.

The space above the girl split open like a gaping maw, lined with jagged runes and dripping with black liquid light. From that rift, a presence began to descend.

The pressure in the chamber rose instantly. The green light dimd as if afraid.

The girl scread but not in fear. Her body began to convulse as energy poured into her, surging through her skin and wrapping around her soul.

Veins bulged and lit with dark green and orange. Her eyes rolled back and then flared wide again, glowing from within with orange fire.

"Welco, Orzhal-Kur," the elder whispered.

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