The Guardian gods Chapter 589

As his eyes scanned its face, Rattan instinctively took a step back. The being’s features weren’t static; they were in constant flux, shifting with every blink of an eye. In one unsettling mont, Rattan even caught a fleeting reflection of his own face among the myriad of changing visages.

He was about to blurt out "Who are you?" but stopped himself. A profound sense of familiarity washed over him, a recognition deep in his soul. "Guardian... is that you?" Rattan asked, his voice barely a whisper. The colossal figure nodded.

Rattan started to drop to his knees, a deferential reflex to such an imnse and familiar presence, but found he couldn’t. Instead, he saw Phantom extend a hand, a clear invitation for Rattan to simply sit so they could talk.

Rattan took several deep breaths, trying to calm the frantic beating of his heart. This was the first ti he was truly coming face-to-face with his guardian, not just as an unseen presence or a distant voice, but as a giant, ever-shifting entity within the confines of his sanctuary.

Phantom, getting straight to the point, asked, "What do you plan on doing after you survive this war?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and vast. Rattan took his ti, trying to formulate a response. But as he opened his mouth, he found he could not find an answer. It truly seed as though his path had reached its end here. The mont he stepped outside the Abyss and into the Empire’s sight, he would be a dead man, his unique talents as a craftsmith utterly irrelevant in the grand sches of empires and gods.

Rattan wanted to ask Phantom what he should do, to seek guidance as he always had. But the words wouldn’t form. A glance at Phantom’s ever-changing face was like looking into a mirror that reflected not just his physical self, but his deepest thoughts, his fears, and his unspoken desires.

No longer in a hurry to provide an answer, Rattan instead looked at Phantom, or rather, at this profound, mirroring reflection of himself. He shifted his own internal question, turning it back on his himself: "What is his next step after his battle?"

"He and his people still need ti to survive and watch as the Empire collapses on itself, so they can take their rightful place. But that’s hard to do with his lost status and influence in the Empire."

"He ca so far because he was living with the enemy, knowing their plans and movents. He was even able to strengthen his people with the Empire’s resources because he was so close to them."

"His current ’skin’ as a genius goblin mage no longer serves a purpose. This skin has to be forsaken and a new one taken. One with enough influence and power that his position would be hard to question."

Seemingly able to read Rattan’s mind, his guardian spoke again, a single, potent suggestion: "You could be him." With those words, Phantom fell silent.

For so inexplicable reason, as Phantom spoke, a specific individual appeared in Rattan’s mind’s eye. He raised his head sharply, glancing at his guardian whose ever-shifting face now undeniably resembled the very person Rattan had just thought of. "Kaelen," Rattan breathed, the na a realization rather than a question.

Yes, Kaelen was the only figure Rattan could think of who fit his next step, but the how remained a monuntal question. How was he, a relatively mundane craftsmith, to beco Kaelen, a sixth-tier being? The only ti he’d even co so close to Kaelen was when they’d worked together, an alliance born of necessity, not parity.

Rattan raised his head, his gaze sweeping the tumultuous sky where Kaelen was locked in a brutal duel with the Demon Queen. What better opportune ti than this? The chaos, the sheer power on display—it felt like a crucible.

He looked at his guardian, who simply shook his head. Rattan imdiately understood. He couldn’t directly interfere, couldn’t simply "beco" Kaelen through so act of will or craft. All he could do now was pray that both figures, Kaelen and the Demon Queen, sohow annihilated each other.

With a heavy sigh, Rattan placed a hand on his face and, with a decisive pull, tore off the skin he had worn for years. His form stretched, bones realigning, as he welcod the familiar twitching of his own tail and the undeniable shift back to his true self. His fur, however, was no longer dark as it had been the last ti; it was now a striking pale white. He paid no attention to this new change in himself. Instead, his sole focus was now fixed on the sky, on the distant, devastating battle where his potential new identity was fighting for its life.

Rattan, now in his true, white-furred form, was consud by a singular, fierce determination: to get his hands on Kaelen, one way or another. If Kaelen sohow erged victorious from this impossible battle, which was a strong "maybe" at best, he would surely be weakened enough for Rattan to make his move.

What seed even more opportune to Rattan now was the possibility of the Demon Queen winning. Through their potential alliance, he might then get his hands on Kaelen’s body. However, Rattan deeply wished to avoid eting the Demon Queen. The Chief’s current state served as a chilling testant to her insidious nature and imnse power. Even though Rattan could barely discern the details of the sixth-tier struggle, he had noticed a distinct pattern: Kaelen was constantly on the defensive, always on the run, while the Demon Queen relentlessly pressed her offensive.

The ambition within Rattan’s soul overflowed, a powerful current of intent. Phantom, witnessing this surge of resolve, smiled. His colossal form then dissipated, vanishing as subtly as he had appeared. Rattan, utterly engrossed in his new, audacious goal, remained unaware of his guardian’s departure.

That was how Rattan spent his ti, waiting and watching for the battle’s conclusion. His patience was finally rewarded in the last monts of the clash when he saw Kaelen’s weakened body fall from the sky like a puppet, plumting towards the frozen ground. Not far behind, the Demon Queen followed, a predatory shadow.

It took a few monts for them to drop out of sight, and Rattan could no longer see them. But then, he heard it: the last, unwilling roar of the Demon Queen, a sound of raw agony and ultimate defeat.

Hearing that roar, Rattan knew it was his cue to move. But he hesitated. Was he truly capable enough to do what he planned? A wave of doubt washed over him, a cold counterpoint to the ambition burning in his soul. Yet, even as his mind wavered, his legs moved, carrying him forward before he could second-guess himself.

He could only imagine the imnse power he would wield from his new position, the far-reaching influence he would gain from claiming what Kaelen had achieved. With that, he would be able to look both Vellok and the Emperor in the eyes without fear, to finally stand toe-to-toe with them as an equal even without the firepower but with status and influence alone.

Rattan pressed on, his determined walk bringing him to the colossal, frozen body of the Demon Queen. With a grunt of effort, he wrenched off her icy head, saving it in his spatial ring – a grueso trophy, or perhaps, a crucial component for future crafts. He then began to search for Kaelen, quickly finding traces of him crawling away from the imdiate impact site.

This pursuit led to the current situation. Rattan had sustained so damage, but his goal was achieved: Kaelen’s body was his. His mories, his status, his very identity—all were now Rattan’s to inherit.

Rattan was admiring his newly acquired, powerful form when he suddenly felt a calling, an undeniable will asking him what he desired. It was as if a sentient force recognized him as the last victor of the conflict. This will resonated with a strange sense of satisfaction and joy, a peculiar emotional response that Rattan found utterly bizarre.

This was the Abyss’s will, thoroughly entertained by the dramatic turn of events. Such a theatrical ending was, to its ancient mind, well worth the wait. When Vorenza, the Demon Queen, had fallen and Kaelen had erged as the victor, the price for that victory should have been Kaelen’s to inherit. But it was precisely at that mont that Rattan had stepped out of the protective do, heading towards Kaelen with a palpable malice in his stride, changing the very course of Kaelen fate.

Kaelen, who should have been granted grace, was not. The Abyss had waited, an ancient observer, to see how events would unfold after Kaelen and Rattan’s fateful encounter. Now, with Rattan as the victor, he deserved the winning grace and the ultimate prize.

Within Rattan’s consciousness, Phantom received words from Ikenga and relayed them: "State what you need at the mont."

Rattan found himself stumped. Right now, he held what he desired most: Kaelen’s very essence. The Abyss’s will, receiving no answer, acted on its own. It imposed its grace on Rattan, a wave of raw power that manifested as a sudden surge in his magical strength. With a slight internal shackle breaking, Rattan shot through to the fifth stage of power, a profound leap even before he had fully comprehended a domain.