Chapter 34
Within the time limit, when Vastor finally felt his life was in real danger, he had already called hundreds of summons.
Each weaker than the last. He did it deliberately, hoping the mortal world could endure even a fragment of their presence.
Any one of them, any single existence from his remaining arsenal, was enough to erase a realm like this in under a minute with minimal effort. All except one, the summon he had lost during the Hell Trial, the one he had been forced to destroy with his own hands.
Yet fate mocked him.
Not one answered.
He tried again. And again. And again.
Nothing.
Vastro felt it then, defeat. Helplessness. The disgust of weakness. Being a baby meant being fragile, useless, trapped in flesh that could not answer his will.
He hated that feeling more than anything.
Then the sword came down.
It sliced across his human mother's back.
Her scream tore through the air. Blood sprayed. Her body twisted as she shielded him, pain etched across her face, raw and unbearable.
Something snapped.
Not fear. Not desperation.
Fury.
Every thought of survival was erased. Obliterated. Replaced by something older, darker, truer. The instinct he was once feared for. The reason realms trembled when his name was whispered.
Destruction.
Absolute annihilation for anyone who dared step on his existence.
He was human now, yes. Reborn. Bound to a weaker vessel.
That changed nothing.
He was still Vastro.
The wildest. The strongest. The usurper who had crushed gods and burned hierarchies to ash.
With renewed, overflowing rage, Vastro called a single name.
"Iscaris."
For a moment, nothing happened.
The soldier's sword continued its path, aimed straight for his chest.
Then Vastor's soul surged.
The bond between soul and vessel exploded outward. Energy tore free. The soldier's sword shattered mid-air. The man was ripped off his feet and hurled backward, smashing into the distance like a broken doll.
The world buckled.
The rising sun was forced back as if it had offended something far greater than itself. The sky darkened violently.
The crimson moon blazed, flooding the land in red light.
Flames erupted from the ground, roaring upward in a towering inferno.
From within it, a figure emerged.
Wrapped entirely in fire. Flesh leaking molten light. Flames clinging to his form as if they were part of his body, not something he controlled, but something he was.
That thought was correct.
Iscaris was a Fyrborn. One of the dominant forces of the Third Realm.
Not just any Fyrborn.
One Vastor had trained.
Many Fyrborn had endured his training. Few survived it.
Iscaris was one of them.
Dark eyes swept across the soldiers. Calm. Steady. Unchanging. His presence alone pressed down on reality.
He paused.
"…I believed I heard the Lord's voice?" Iscaris muttered, scanning the sky.
You fool. I am here.
The voice echoed directly into his mind.
Iscaris stiffened, then bowed toward the crimson moon.
As expected, my Lord does something magnificent again, he thought. Turning himself into a crimson moon and seizing control of a lesser realm.
"Oh great one," Iscaris said aloud, voice reverent, unwavering. "I am honored to be summoned by you."
He lowered his head further.
"What does this humble slave of yours exist to do today?"
Vastro felt his eyes twitch.
"Hey, moron. I'm not in the sky. I'm right here on the ground."
Iscaris blinked.
He turned, gaze sweeping over the weak, puny humans scattered across the dirt. Confusion flickered through his eyes.
What is this. There is no way the Great One would be human. No. Impossible.
His thought shattered.
There, lying in the dirt, was a baby.
The child's eyes flashed hellish red for a single breath.
That was enough.
Iscaris recognized the aura instantly. It was faint. Almost imperceptible. So weak it could be mistaken for nothing.
But how could he miss it.
He served the Great Lord.
No matter how subtle it was, he would know it anywhere.
The Great One… is a baby.
Iscaris froze for a heartbeat. Then he dropped from the air and slammed to his knees, head lowered so deeply it nearly touched the ground.
"My apologies, Great One," he said, voice trembling. "I answered your call too late, and I mistook you for that puny moon."
He pressed his forehead into the dirt.
"I deserve erasure for such a sin. Please, erase me as punishment."
The soldiers watching were completely stumped.
They wanted to run. They wanted to scream.
They could not move.
Primal fear crushed their hearts, locking their bodies in place as if space itself had frozen them. But even that was not the worst part.
The worst part was this.
A being of unfathomable power was kneeling and begging before a baby.
The world truly had gone mad.
Vastro's eyes twitched again.
Why is this Fyrborn so dramatic.
Normally, he would have erased him on the spot just for asking. But right now, he needed him. Very badly.
Through their bond, Vastro sent a single command.
Kill them all. Start with everyone here. Kill them all. Destroy the kingdom. Burn everything to ash.
Iscaris nodded without hesitation.
These puny humans must have truly angered the Great One. How unfortunate, to offend a being they should never have even perceived.
He rose slowly.
"Your wish is my command."
"Wait," Vastro added calmly. "Everyone except those two."
His gaze flicked toward his human father and mother who were knocked out by iscaris aura.
"I'll keep them. For now."
Iscaris nodded again.
His dark eyes locked onto the soldier who had tried to kill Vastor.
The soldier froze.
His instincts screamed a single word.
Danger.
Run. Run now.
He never got to took a step.
Flames erupted around him in an instant. His scream never finished. He was burned to ash before he could even fall.
Varka and Crow finally broke.
The primal fear gripping them twisted into pure terror. Warmth spread down their legs as they wet themselves.
"Please," Crow begged, his commanding tone gone, replaced by raw panic. "We were just following orders."
Vastro grinned.
Much better, he thought.
Iscaris' gaze shifted to them.
They exploded into roaring flames.
In seconds, nothing remained. No bodies. No bones. Not even dust.
Iscaris rose into the air.
Higher. And higher.
Soon, he hovered above the entire Kingdom of Rugraiy.
He looked down at it, dark eyes blazing with rage.
These puny creatures dared to tread on the Great Lord. They deserved eternal torment. Their souls bound and tortured without end.
Burning them now was mercy.
But who was he to question the Great Lord's will.
Iscaris spread his arms.
Above the kingdom, massive comets of flame began to form, one after another, surrounding Rugraiy like a cocoon of absolute destruction.
Suddenly, the Kingdom of Rugraiy seemed to gain multiple suns.
They hovered in the sky, surrounding the land from all sides. The sight would have been beautiful. Heavenly, even.
If not for the terror that exploded in every heart at once.
Kings. Councilors. The oracle.
Soldiers. Citizens. Victims. Criminals. Merchants.
Everyone felt it.
An invisible hand crushed their hearts, ripping through their souls and freezing their bodies in pure horror.
"This… this… this is exactly like my nightmare…"
King Jallon muttered as his legs gave out and he collapsed onto the floor.
He had failed.
He failed to eradicate the future disaster. And now, he would be the first to die by the hands of the Destroyer.
His eyes went stiff. A hollow sigh escaped his lips.
"It's over," he said quietly. "The world is doomed."
"But first… my kingdom will be the first victim."
"Your Majesty," one of the trembling council members managed to ask, his voice shaking violently. "What are we to do? Should we deploy all high-ranking generals to stop the attack? What should we do?"
King Jallon did not answer immediately.
His face was pale. Grave.
"No need," he finally said. "There is nothing any of them can do."
He looked up at the inferno-like suns burning in the sky.
"Simply accept the truth. We will all die."
"Since we failed to stop the rise of the devil, we shall perish by his counterattack."
He was the strongest cultivator in the entire Kingdom of Rugraiy.
And yet, staring at those blazing solar spheres, he felt nothing but absolute dread and powerlessness.
Even if he burned his life away, he could not stop them.
The energy contained within those suns was beyond anything he had encountered in his long life.
The council members broke.
Some screamed.
Some dropped to their knees.
Others turned deathly pale.
But one thing was clear to all of them.
They were hopeless.
All of them.
Except one figure standing at the shadowed end of the palace hall.
The Dark Oracle.
Her eyes deepened as she muttered under her breath.
"I'm not going to die here."
King Jallon kept staring at the blazing lights illuminating the entire city.
His voice was calm. Resigned.
"I've lost," he whispered. "The world is doomed for sure."
If there was one thing he regretted, it was failing to stop the evil before it ended him.
"Someone," he murmured, like a final prayer. "Anyone… stop the Destroyer."
"Or the entire world will be decimated."
Iscaris' finger dropped.
With that single, casual gesture, dozens of blazing solar spheres fell.
They crashed into the kingdom with violent, destructive booms.
The world shook.
No one had time to scream.
People were erased in an instant, burned to ashes before sound could escape their throats. Beasts. Wild animals. Every living thing within the kingdom, and far beyond it, was utterly wiped out.
The silent wails of parents who lost their children were drowned by explosions, their suffering ended by flames as they died moments later.
The council.
The king.
Everyone.
They vanished as the inferno spread uncontrollably, swallowing streets, palaces, and even nearby settlements, plunging everything into chaos.
And amidst it all, the main instigator watched.
Baby Vastor grinned from ear to ear as he surveyed the destruction he was indirectly causing.
Well, they started trouble first.
It wasn't so bad to return the favor.
If he were more moral, perhaps he would have thought about the nurses who helped his parents escape. Or the innocents who died simply because he was born.
But he wasn't morally composed.
And he didn't remember them.
The destruction continued.
Cities fell. Cultivators burned. Night cracked under roaring flames.
And through all the chaos, one sound stood out.
Soft.
Wrong.
Chuckling.
Baby Vastor laughed, eyes gleaming as flames rose into the sky.
This is really fun, he thought.
Now this… this is a good birthday.
TO BE CONTINUED....