Against The True Gods

From the skies above, a young man descended, draped in layered white robes that flowed like cascading waves of silk.

His long, thick, curly white hair spilled over his broad shoulders, trailing behind him like a cloud of ethereal mist. The sheer weight of his presence bent the air around him, pressing down on the arena below.

His eyes glowed with a serene, milky-white light, reminiscent of a blind man's gaze. Yet, within their depths, faint bloody-red runes pulsed ominously, exuding an aura of ancient, terrifying power.

Caine had never seen this man before. As he gauged the stranger's presence, his eyes narrowed slightly, a ripple of caution coursing through him.

"Hello," the man said, his voice soft yet carrying a resonance that seemed to vibrate within the bones of those who heard it. "I am the Timeless Guardian, but feel free to call me Ancestor Tallow."

He landed gently on the cold marble of the arena, his movements so graceful it was as if the world itself welcomed him.

A faint, unrestrained smile tugged at his lips—a smile so pure it seemed to melt the tension in the air, dissolving the weight of anticipation that hung over the crowd.

Ancestor Tallow's gaze rested on Caine, his expression warm and disarmingly gentle. "Ah, young man. You have clearly bested all the Heirs of the Alliance and, by rights, deserve the title of Scion. That would be true under normal circumstances."

His smile deepened, the warmth in his eyes hardening into something colder, sharper.

"But these are anything but normal circumstances, aren't they?" His voice remained light, but there was a subtle edge to it.

"You've shattered every rule we have. Perhaps you didn't realize, but killing the other Heirs is strictly forbidden. You've left many of them dead, and that poses… a bit of an issue."

He heaved a theatrical sigh, as though burdened by an insurmountable problem.

"Yet we can't simply strip you of the title. It's painfully clear that no one in this generation can rival you," he continued, his eyes flicking toward the ancestors encircling the arena.

As if on cue, the ancestors exchanged glances. Faint smiles curled their lips, and their oppressive auras withdrew, softening to appear less threatening. But Caine, with his razor-sharp perception, detected the malevolence and contempt lurking beneath their controlled exteriors.

"So, how do we resolve this, lad?" Ancestor Tallow asked, his finger pointing skyward.

"The answer is simple. If we are unworthy to judge you, then let the world itself decide."

"There exists a place known as the Ancestral Trial Grounds. We've never used it because it has never been necessary. But surely, with your strength, you wouldn't mind partaking in it?"

Tallow's chuckle was low and smooth as he stepped closer, placing a hand on Caine's shoulder with the casual intimacy of an old friend. "If you pass, you'll be our Scion. No one will dare contest it. Think of it as a political… detour to secure your position without any trouble, alright?"

He leaned in, his arm draping around Caine's neck. His voice dropped to a whisper, laced with mockery. "So, what do you say? Do you dare?"

A thick silence blanketed the arena. The spectators, unsure of who this man was or what the Ancestral Trial Grounds entailed, watched with wide eyes and pounding hearts.

The air felt heavy, like a net tightening around them, suffocating any sense of ease.

It felt like witnessing a devil offering a child a forbidden fruit—an offer that could lead only to ruin.

Caine's head turned slowly to face Ancestor Tallow. Their eyes locked, and for a heartbeat, Tallow's smile faltered.

The look Caine gave him was one of searing contempt—the gaze of a god looking down on a sinner begging for undeserved mercy. It stripped Tallow of his facade, exposing his hollow motives to the world.

Tallow's smile barely wavered, but a bitter thought clawed at the edges of his mind: "I see why these old fools despise him."

"What do these trials entail exactly?" Caine asked, his voice cold and even. He brushed Tallow's arm aside with deliberate ease.

Without missing a beat, Caine dusted his robes, his expression unchanged. Tallow's smile stayed fixed as he explained, "It's simple."

"The Ancestral Trial Grounds are trials devised by the World Will Eye itself. They test worthiness in all its facets. Long ago, these trials determined the ruler of all clans—the one who proved themselves through the world's judgment."

"We abandoned that tradition, but the option remains. If you succeed, no one can doubt your right to lead."

"It's the perfect compromise."

Caine nodded slowly. He expected omissions and half-truths from these cunning old foxes.

Their schemes were as transparent as glass.

He glanced at Zao, noting his calm composure. Then he turned back to Tallow.

"Sure, I'll go."

Ancestor Tallow's smile widened, brilliant and triumphant. He waved his hand, and the ground trembled beneath their feet.

The sky churned violently, clouds twisting and tearing apart to reveal the yawning void beyond. From that endless abyss, the colossal figure of the World Will Eye manifested, its gaze cold and ancient, a silent judge of mortals.

Tallow lifted his hand once more, conjuring a whirl of intricate runes. The symbols twisted and merged, forming a complex array that soared into the sky. The formation embedded itself into the World Will Eye, shattering and reforming it into a glowing, white void—like a tear in the fabric of reality itself.

From that tear, a brilliant pillar of light descended, connecting heaven and earth.

Tallow gestured toward the light. "Step into the pillar when you're ready."

Caine didn't hesitate. His expression was serene, his heart steady, his back straight. He walked forward, his gaze sharp and unyielding. He passed through the gathering of ancestors without a glance of respect, their presence beneath his notice.

As he reached the pillar, he turned back. His voice, low and cold, echoed across the arena, a blade cutting through the tension.

"Time will expose your ignorance, you rotting corpses of saturated sin."

With that, he stepped into the pillar of light—and vanished.

Just as Caine vanished, from the skies above, silver, white and black feathers began to fall and from the heavens above, a figure appeared.

RUMBLE!