The Guardian gods Chapter 544

Vellok’s grip did not tighten, but it might as well have. The weight of his words alone was crushing.

"All living things want to survive. You want to survive. That instinct, that will to live—that’s all the loyalty I require. I don’t need vows or declarations. Just obedience. Just action."

There was a mont of silence, thick with tension. Then Vellok continued, his tone sharp and final:

"Kaelen’s next moves, after what he’s just pulled, will be reckless. Desperate. Watch him. Monitor every step he takes. Report everything. His ambitions must be asured... and if necessary, curtailed."

"The Empire cannot afford to falter now. If it fails to respond properly to Kaelen’s provocations, we risk losing everything we’ve built."

And with that, the world around Rattan shifted. In the blink of an eye, he was no longer kneeling in that cold, vast chamber.

He was back. Back in his office. But sothing was different. The space felt hollow, the air heavier than before. Vellok was gone—but his presence still lingered like a scent in the walls, a pressure behind the eyes.

Rattan exhaled slowly. He was alone... yet he knew that from this mont on, he would never truly be alone again.

He was under constant watch. Every breath, every move.

The ga had changed and the stakes had never been higher.

Back in the Abyss, in the dark, towering hall of Zarvok, silence gripped the room. The three figures sat still, the weight of what had just been revealed pressing heavily on their minds. Zarvok had finished speaking, and though his voice had gone quiet, the implications of his words echoed in the air like a lingering storm.

A slow, satisfied smile spread wider across Zarvok’s face. His eyes glead with amusent, but more than that—calculation. The value of this world had just risen. The spell created by the mages, and its unexpected result, had changed everything.

Such knowledge... it could beco a defining feature of his domain, a power that would set his layer of the Abyss apart once he took the throne as demon lord. "Mother"—what a fascinating concept. Entire civilizations, especially those grappling with population crises or survival dilemmas, would covet it. They would need it. And Zarvok intended to be the one to control its distribution.

His gaze drifted lazily across the chamber toward Ikenga and Keles, who sat opposite him in tense silence. He couldn’t help but reflect on the nature of the Abyss’s favor—the grace bestowed upon the chosen. How strange, how deeply unfair, that those selected by the Abyss were so often burdened with more than those who were not. There was a twisted elegance to it, a cosmic irony that never failed to amuse him.

Ikenga and Keles, however, were not sharing in that amusent. Frowns etched deep into their faces, their thoughts running parallel as they processed everything they’d just heard. The realization was as clear as it was uncomfortable:

The humans in their world—those they had long underestimated or simply endured—held far more value than they’d believed. And at the sa ti, these sa humans were also the greatest point of fragility, the weakest link.

In silence, both ca to the sa conclusion, unspoken but deeply felt:

"The strength of the humans must be raised. They should not remain a weakness."

Both had tasted firsthand the terrifying potential of what the First Children were capable of. And Murmur, who possessed deep knowledge of this power, had used it shrewdly—manipulating it in just the right mont to protect himself when he had been within arm’s reach of them.

They rembered clearly the thin, golden, impenetrable shield that had surrounded them. As the humans knelt in a perfect circle, drawing upon sothing ancient and sacred, Murmur had guided them. And together, they summoned a force strong enough to hold back even the two of them—Ikenga and Keles.

It was a sobering mont.

Now, with ti to reflect, both understood the deeper truth: a world could be taken over through many thods—not just brute force. There were other, subtler ways to bring a world to its knees. Influence. Belief. Unity. Knowledge.

Ikenga, in particular, found his mind racing. He was already considering the consequences of such power being accessible to the humans in their own world. A power like that, left unchecked or misunderstood, could beco a weapon against them.

He could already imagine the nightmare scenario—one the Origin Gods likely hadn’t prepared for. A battle where they fought with all their might to protect their world, pouring their strength into every front, only to find that the enemy had already reached the humans. Had persuaded them. Had convinced them to surrender.

All that struggle, all that sacrifice, rendered aningless in a single mont of human compliance.

No... That could not be allowed to happen.

Ikenga pushed the thought aside. It was a concern worth revisiting, but not sothing that could be acted upon right now. Both he and Keles were far from their world, and worrying over what couldn’t be changed in the mont would do them no good.

Instead, his focus shifted to another lingering statent—sothing Vellok had said earlier.

"Zarvok," Ikenga spoke, his voice steady but curious, "do the mage’s words hold any truth? That not all sixth-stage beings are immortal?"

Zarvok took a slow sip from his wine cup, letting the silence linger for just a mont longer than expected. Then he gave a faint, knowing smile.

"Immortality..." he began, "is sothing most mortals crave. Many would give everything they have—soul, body, lineage—just for a chance at it. And yet, there are beings like you and I, born into it. It’s not sothing we earned. It’s simply what we are."

He leaned back slightly, eyes half-lidded with thought.

"Mortals, with their power systems, their endless quests for strength... they do sotis brush against the threshold of immortality. But only a few ever manage to truly cross it."

He held up a finger, as if to guide the lesson. "The path begins at the Fifth Stage. That’s where most mortals first make contact with what we call the ’laws’—abstract forces that begin to shape their very existence. These laws often manifest as domains, giving them power beyond the physical, and with that cos an initial taste of longevity."

Zarvok’s tone beca more contemplative.

"Then cos the Sixth Stage. This is where mortals enter full communion with the laws. They no longer rely touch them—they command them. And it is at this point that their understanding, their ’comprehension’ of a law, begins to define the strength and length of their existence."

"The normal lifespan for a being at this stage, "the Sixth Stage" is around 10,000 years," Zarvok continued, his tone now adopting the calm certainty of soone who had observed such truths unfold countless tis. "But this number isn’t fixed. It can grow. The more a mortal deepens their understanding of the law they’ve touched, the more that knowledge stretches and expands the boundaries of their existence. In essence, the deeper their comprehension, the longer they live."

He paused to swirl the wine in his cup before taking another sip.

"So yes," he said with a nod, "the mage’s words are true. At the Sixth Stage, so mortals do indeed begin to brush up against immortality. Their paths—depending on the law they’ve chosen and how they interpret it—can serve as gateways to eternal life."

"Take the Fla Path, for instance," Zarvok continued, eyes glinting with mory or perhaps amusent. "It is one of the more commonly chosen domains—accessible, powerful, and feared. But its aning is not fixed. For so, fla represents destruction, raw firepower, the ability to annihilate. Those who see it this way often gain terrifying strength but little ti. They burn bright... and burn out fast."

He leaned forward slightly, voice growing heavier.

"But others," he said, "see fla as sothing else—a symbol of endurance, purification, renewal, even divine rebirth. If a mortal walks the Fla Path with that kind of insight... they might find a way to keep up ti. To rge their essence with the eternal nature of fire itself. To beco sothing that burns... forever."

He let the words linger.

"That’s the danger and the wonder of mortal paths," he concluded. "Two individuals may walk the sa path, but only one might glimpse eternity—while the other races against ti, desperately seeking so other way to extend their fleeting life."

"Interesting," Ikenga murmured to himself, his eyes narrowing with curiosity as the heavy door creaked open. The hinges groaned like old bones, giving way to a small figure who stepped confidently into the chamber.

It was an Imp — but not just any Imp.

The creature was sharply dressed in a crisply tailored butler’s uniform, the dark fabric offset by a silver chain and immaculate gloves. Polished, clawed feet clicked against the obsidian floor. The air shimred faintly around him, as if it still rembered fire.

Ikenga and Keles exchanged a glance. Recognition struck them both at once. This was the sa Imp who had once trembled and burned beneath Ikenga’s new flas — the only one who had not lost his mind to the flas new effect. Sohow, this lowly demon had survived. Not only survived — endured. Changed.