Against The True Gods

The countless resources below exploded into a golden cloud of runes, merging with Uriel's soul as everything fused into Elura's egg. The egg began to shift, its shell rippling like liquid metal, its shape warping and morphing with every passing second, but Caine paid it no mind.

The brand on his heart burned fiercely, illuminating his chest with golden light, while above his head, the faint outline of his crown flickered into existence.

The threads of fate, seared into his hands, began to pulse and glow madly, as though they were molten iron branding his flesh.

He reached forward, gripping the fabric of space as if it were mere cloth, his fingers clamping down with unnatural force. As he pulled and twisted, the world itself groaned in protest. The countless storms raging above quivered and then shattered, their fragmented energy swirling toward the egg in luminous streams of condensed power.

Meanwhile, Laplace erupted into motion, his figure blurring as he carved through the descending angels with a grace that bordered on inhuman. He was a specter of death, his every motion precise and absolute. Each fallen angel left behind divine remnants—shattered wings, flickering halos, fractured sigils—all of which were swiftly devoured by the egg, absorbed into its growing power.

Caine exhaled a trembling breath, his vision blurring at the edges, but he forced himself to remain steady. Long golden chains materialized in his hands, coiling like living serpents. He lifted his gaze toward the eye above, and it glared back, pulsating with unfathomable rage. It loathed him—hated his very existence, his defiance, his audacity to stand before it without bowing.

The sheer force of its animosity was suffocating, pressing down upon him like the weight of countless universes. He could feel the depth of its fury, the indignation rippling through its very essence.

And yet, despite the oppressive malice bearing down upon him, Caine smiled. Just as he had when facing a World Will Eye for the first time, he grinned. But unlike back then, this was something far beyond what those eyes could ever be.

Slowly, he began to swing the chains in his hands, their momentum building with every rotation. With each cycle, scarlet runes burned across their surface, followed by wisps of golden qi, each ripple compounding the force behind them. Then, without hesitation—

BANG!

The chains shot upward, piercing through the air like divine spears, their velocity shattering the surrounding space.

CRACK!

They struck deep into the eye above, embedding themselves into its colossal form.

From the wounds, multicolored blood began to spill, each droplet as vast as a world.

BOOOOM! BOOOM! BOOOOM!

The impact of the falling blood sent tremors through the endless white expanse, each drop crashing like a primordial explosion, birthing tsunamis of celestial ichor that surged and spread across the battlefield.

A thunderous roar filled the air as the heavens trembled. The eye pulsed violently, its rage only intensifying—but something had changed.

The brand on Caine's heart flared impossibly bright, its radiance scorching through his flesh, and as it did, something within the heavens themselves seemed to crack.

Caine gritted his teeth, wrapping the chains further around his forearms, securing his hold.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself.

Behind him, his shattered rings flickered to life, their broken fragments aligning to mirror the constellations of his stars. The power of those stars surged through him, weaving into the cracks of his rings, before flowing directly into his Dao Hearts.

Like an engine igniting, his hearts roared to life. Their beats grew louder, deeper, reverberating through every fiber of his being.

Then, with a single guttural roar—

"ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

—he pulled.

The world convulsed. The heavens themselves buckled.

A battle of sheer will erupted—Caine against the skies.

At the same time, the formation beneath him erupted into blinding light, countless runes and symbols interlocking in an intricate dance, their collective might binding themselves to the gate.

The egg floated higher, positioning itself directly above the monument, while silver and amethyst fumes spiraled upward, staining the purity of the expanse.

The celestial waves of blood flooding the battlefield were rapidly drawn into the formation, absorbed as fuel, while Caine continued his impossible struggle.

His muscles distended grotesquely, veins bulging and splitting open across his arms and shoulders. His skin turned crimson as sheer force threatened to tear him apart, yet he did not waver.

And still, the eye did not move.

Laplace, high above, paused mid-slaughter.

He had trusted Caine's plan, had refrained from interfering—but now, watching this insignificant mortal strain against the firmament itself, doubt flickered through his normally unwavering mind.

His gaze sharpened, mind racing for alternatives, for solutions—until, suddenly, he stopped.

Caine's Will erupted.

A blanket of heretic defiance spread over the battlefield, thick and absolute, drowning the land in an oppressive force unlike any before.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

The sound of blood pumping through his veins merged with his booming laughter, wild and untamed. His Will expanded, cracked, and expanded further still, refusing to be contained.

Laplace's eyes widened slightly.

His arms flexed, his grip tightening.

Then—

The skies shook.

Caine took a step back, and the heavens lurched.

He pulled again, another monstrous roar escaping him as, for the first time, the eye above wavered.

Another step. Another pull.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Each motion carved another inch, dragging the heavens closer to the earth. With every pull, the brand on his heart glowed ever brighter, searing into his chest, leaving marks upon his very soul.

The formation beneath him had become a miniature sun, its radiance outshining the celestial bodies above. The surrounding air was thick with silver and white mist, a tangible manifestation of the boundless energy being poured into the ritual.

By now, the eye consumed the entire sky. Caine could no longer see anything beyond it—only darkness.

Yet, despite its incomprehensible vastness, despite its seemingly endless power—

It was afraid.

And Caine knew it.

His smile widened, blood trailing from the corners of his lips as his back bent further, his body nearing the point of collapse.

Then—

A shift.

The egg moved.

Hovering just above his chest, it positioned itself directly between him and the eye.

Laplace, upon seeing this, understood immediately. His form blurred, and in the next moment, every remaining angel was torn asunder, their divine remnants swallowed whole by the egg.

The shell trembled, cracks forming along its surface.

A low, weak, juvenile growl rumbled from within.

Caine gave one final, monstrous pull.

The eye made contact with the egg—

And in an instant—It vanished.

Devoured.

Gone.

Caine collapsed backward, his entire body failing him as the chains around his forearms receded, dissolving back into his skin. His Will flickered, then dispersed. His vision darkened.

His consciousness wavered—But just before oblivion claimed him, a sound reached his ears.

A roar.

[Nameless Call: Sparked Birth.]

The egg hatched.