Warlock of Oceans: My Poseidon System

Before Cyrus could respond, Sylus emerged from a nearby doorway, his presence commanding immediate attention. "It's fine," Sylus said, his voice steady but carrying an authority that left no room for argument. The clergymen hesitated only for a moment before bowing slightly and stepping aside. Sylus nodded at Cyrus. "Follow me." They walked in silence down a series of corridors, the stone walls adorned with tapestries depicting scenes of battle and divine intervention. The air grew cooler the farther they went until they arrived at a modest wooden door. Sylus opened it, revealing a small but well-kept office. The room was lined with bookshelves, each crammed with tomes, scrolls, and ledgers. A simple desk sat in the center, papers neatly arranged alongside a single candle that had burned down halfway. Sylus gestured for Cyrus to take a seat across from the desk as he moved to the other side, lowering himself into the chair with a slight sigh. For a moment, the two men regarded each other, the weight of the previous night's conversation still lingering between them. "Well," Cyrus said, leaning back slightly, "I'm here. Let's hear it." Sylus leaned forward in his chair, the dim candlelight casting long shadows across his face. His eyes bore an unusual weight as he began to speak, his voice low and steady, tinged with reverence and caution. "The man you and Athena encountered," he began, "was no ordinary foe. He is one of the Three Pillars, beings who are as old as this world—older, even. What you saw, Cyrus, was the Pillar of Decay, a being of immense and unfathomable power. Alongside him are two others: the Pillar of Wisdom and the Pillar of Trickery. Together, they are the architects of the very ground you stand on." Cyrus frowned, leaning in slightly. "Architects? What do you mean?" Sylus nodded. "Long ago—long before this world existed—the Pillars were great rivals. Their power was unmatched, and their egos were just as vast. They were locked in constant conflict, each trying to destroy the other, driven by their own ideals and desires. Their battles were so catastrophic, so destructive, that the very fabric of their homeworld could no longer sustain them. They were expelled, cast out into the unknown, into a realm that was both nowhere and everywhere—a void." "The Void," Sylus clarified, his tone deepening. "It is where we now stand, Cyrus. This world you know was once that same empty expanse. When they were banished here, the Pillars brought their conflict with them. For a long time, they waged war against each other, each carving out their own dominion within the Void. They divided the emptiness into three domains, each shaped by their own essence—Decay, Wisdom, and Trickery. But this constant warring had consequences they did not foresee." Sylus leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he continued. "You see, the Void itself was not as empty as they thought. It was alive. A sentient entity, vast and unfathomable, watching and feeding off their endless conflict. Their battles only strengthened it, and soon, the Void turned against them. It began to consume everything they had built—every kingdom, every construct of their power. It devoured all until they were left with nothing but themselves, broken and teetering on the edge of annihilation." Cyrus exhaled sharply, the enormity of Sylus's words sinking in. "So, what did they do?" he asked, his voice quieter now. "They had no choice but to end their war," Sylus replied. "For the first time, they set aside their differences. Together, they forged an uneasy alliance, pooling their powers to survive. What came next is a mystery shrouded in legend—no one knows the exact details. But what we do know is that, somehow, they did the impossible. They slayed the Void itself." "Slayed it?" Cyrus echoed, disbelief clear in his tone. "Yes," Sylus affirmed. "The Void, once endless and unyielding, was killed by the combined might of the Three Pillars. And from its carcass, they built this world. They reshaped the remnants of the Void into something stable, something that could endure. They created the foundations of the world we now inhabit." Cyrus sat back, stunned. "And what happened to them?" Sylus's expression grew somber. "After setting this world on the right track, they disappeared. Some say they ascended to a higher plane, others believe they scattered themselves across their creation, their essence infused into the fabric of the world itself. But no one truly knows. What's certain is that they left behind a fragile peace, one that persists—barely—to this day." Cyrus rubbed his chin thoughtfully, the weight of the revelation pressing down on him. "And now one of them is back," he muttered. "The Pillar of Decay." Sylus's gaze turned sharper, his eyes narrowing as he leaned forward, the flickering candlelight casting an intense glow across his face. His voice, though calm, carried a deep unease. "I've had my suspicions for a while now," Sylus began, his tone grave. "The Pillar of Decay didn't just wake up on his own, Cyrus. A force like him—his power, his essence—it doesn't simply emerge without cause. I believe someone, or rather something, is pulling the strings. There is a cult, an ancient and fanatical group, dedicated to bringing the Three Pillars back to this plane of existence." Cyrus raised an eyebrow, skepticism flickering across his face. "A cult? Devoted to them? Why would anyone want to resurrect beings that nearly destroyed everything?" Sylus let out a weary sigh. "You'd be surprised what desperation and blind devotion can drive people to do. These cultists see the Pillars not as destroyers, but as saviors—beings capable of reshaping the world into what they see as a perfect form. They believe that the current state of the world is fractured and impure and that only the Pillars can purge it of weakness." He paused, his expression darkening further. "But it's more than ideology, Cyrus. They aren't just worshippers—they're practitioners of forbidden arts. Their rituals and sacrifices are designed to siphon fragments of the Pillars' power, to pierce the veil between this world and whatever realm the Pillars have been banished to. And bit by bit, they're succeeding." Cyrus frowned deeply, his hands tightening into fists. "So you think they've managed to bring Decay back?" "Not fully," Sylus clarified. "What you encountered was likely only a fragment of his true form—an echo, a shadow. But even that is dangerous enough. If they're allowed to continue their work, they'll bring him, Wisdom, and Trickery back in their entirety. And if that happens…" He trailed off, his jaw tightening. "They'll rip this world apart," Cyrus finished grimly. Sylus nodded. "Exactly. And this isn't the first sign. There have been… anomalies—places where reality weakens, where things shouldn't exist but do. Creatures like that eldritch beast you fought in the dungeon are manifestations of their tampering. They're tearing at the seams of this world, forcing their way through." Cyrus leaned back in his chair, processing the weight of Sylus's words. "So what's the plan? How do we stop them?" "We need to find them before they can perform the next stage of their rituals," Sylus said firmly. "That means gathering information, tracking their movements, and dismantling their network piece by piece. It won't be easy—they've been operating in the shadows for centuries. But we don't have a choice." The room fell into a tense silence as the enormity of the task ahead settled between them. Finally, Cyrus broke it with a dark chuckle. "Great. So not only do we have to deal with eldritch monstrosities, but now we've got a fanatical cult to hunt down too. What a day." Sylus gave a faint smile, though the worry in his eyes didn't fade. "Welcome to the real battle, Cyrus. And it's only just beginning." Athena stirred awake as the sunlight crept into her room, cutting through the drawn curtains and spilling a pale golden hue across her modest surroundings. Groaning softly, she stretched her arms overhead, her joints cracking as the grogginess of the previous night's indulgence faded. With a yawn that escaped like a small roar, she swung her legs over the edge of her bed and padded across the wooden floor, her bare feet meeting its cool surface. She reached for a glass of water on her nightstand, her hand brushing aside some crumpled notes and an empty vial. Taking the glass, she moved to the cracked mirror hanging crookedly on the wall. The damage distorted her reflection slightly, but not enough to stop her from inspecting her tired face. Her hair was a mess of loose strands framing her face, and her eyes bore faint shadows from the night's revelry. She took a long sip of the water, savoring the refreshing coolness as it eased her dry throat. Athena let out a contented sigh as she set the glass down on a nearby shelf. Her eyes wandered back to the mirror—and her breath caught in her chest. The reflection looking back at her was no longer her own. Standing in her place was a stunning woman, ethereal and almost otherworldly. Her ebony hair cascaded in soft waves just above her shoulders, framing a face so symmetrical and flawless it felt like gazing at a crafted masterpiece. Soft, piercing blue eyes shone with a depth that seemed to hold galaxies, locking onto Athena's gaze through the glass. Her skin was pale, smooth, and radiant, with an almost silken glow that amplified her beauty. Athena felt frozen, as if her body refused to move while her mind tried to comprehend what she was seeing. The woman in the mirror radiated an allure so profound it made her heart race. Beautiful wasn't enough to describe her—she was perfect. Without a doubt, this was the most captivating face Athena had ever seen. Her hand trembled as she instinctively reached up to touch her own face, watching the motion in the mirror. The reflection mimicked her movements, but there was a haunting grace to how the woman moved—smoother, more fluid. And then, without Athena even doing anything, the woman in the mirror grinned.