Gng
Ash Beneath the Thrones of Heaven
CHAPTER I: THE BLOOD THAT SUMMONS
The Lands Between had grown quieter since the death of the Erdtree. Not peaceful—never that—but the constant divine wars had given way to something more insidious. The whispers of forgotten gods. The crawling remnants of broken deities. The slow corruption of what remained.
Caelan Ashbrand walked alone through the shattered ruins of Farum Azula, his Godslayer Greatsword dragging behind him through the ash-strewn ground. The massive blade carved a shallow furrow in its wake, like a plow through fallow soil. His armor—forged from the remains of Maliketh, the Black Blade—made no sound as he moved, despite its weight. The black metal was etched with scorched runes of divine execution, the fur lining singed at the edges from countless battles with god-things that refused to die properly.
The raven-black hair that fell across his forehead was streaked with ash-silver near the edges—a permanent mark of his communion with blackflame. His steel-grey eyes, pupils ringed with faint red-orange irises, scanned the ruins methodically. They glowed softly in the half-light, not with warmth, but with a cold, contained fire.
He had come to this place following the Thread of Ash—a metaphysical trail woven through dying skies and cursed thrones. Wherever the Thread burned brightest, something unspeakable waited. Something divine that needed silencing.
The summoning circle lay hidden beneath a collapsed archway, almost completely buried under rubble. It was ancient—older than the Erdtree, older perhaps than the concept of godhood itself in the Lands Between. The stones were etched with symbols that predated written language, curved and spiraling in patterns that hurt the eye to follow.
Caelan approached it with practiced caution. Ancient magic was common in the Lands Between, but most of it was harmless now—echoes without substance. Still, he had lived long enough to know that assumptions were dangerous things.
He knelt beside the circle, his fingers tracing the grooves cut into the stone. There was no power here—no thrum of magic, no whisper of divinity. Just dead rock and forgotten purpose.
As he rose to leave, his hand caught on a jagged edge of the circle's boundary stone. A minor wound—barely enough to draw blood. For a being of his durability, it was less than nothing.
But a single drop of blood—blood that had absorbed the essence of countless slain gods—fell upon the circle.
In that moment, the world held its breath.
Ten silent flashes of impossible light erupted from the circle. Colors that had no names in mortal tongues. Pressure that would have crushed mountains rippled outward, distorting the very air.
And then there were ten of them.
Women. Beasts. Goddesses. Avatars of power from worlds away.
They materialized fully formed—and completely powerless.
Castoria was the first to regain her senses. Small and delicate with long, flowing blonde hair tied with blue ribbons, her white and blue ceremonial dress now dulled with ash. The massive staff she once wielded—a holy sword-key hybrid that had channeled unimaginable magic—lay inert in her hands. Her crown, once a symbol of her fairy queen authority, felt suddenly heavy on her brow.
She stumbled forward, nearly falling to her knees before instinctively grabbing onto the nearest solid thing—Caelan's armored forearm. Her teal eyes widened with terror and confusion.
"W-where are we? What happened to Avalon?" Her voice trembled, but retained a trace of the nobility that was ingrained in her being. "The forests... I can't feel the forests anymore."
Beast Koyanskaya—her large fox ears twitching with agitation—was the next to react. Her platinum-blonde hair flowed wild and untamed down her back, and her multiple voluminous, flame-tipped golden tails lashed behind her in furious arcs. Her white and red kimono-like robe, once radiant with divine power, now seemed merely ornate rather than otherworldly.
She prowled in a tight circle, slitted eyes darting from shadow to shadow, her bare feet making no sound on the ash-covered stone. Her normally confident smile had twisted into a snarl of confusion and rage.
"You!" She pointed accusingly at Caelan, her voice a sharp hiss. "What have you done? Where are my powers? My domain? My divinity?" She flexed her fingers as if trying to summon claws or magic, but nothing came. "What is this place? It reeks of death and... emptiness."
Summer Morgan stood apart from the others, her platinum-blonde hair flowing elegantly down to her legs despite the chaos around her. Her luxurious white and gold bikini-inspired gown with its elaborate bows seemed absurdly out of place in the blighted landscape. She stared at her reflection in a puddle of stagnant water that had collected between broken stones, her cool blue eyes widening in shock.
"Why do I feel cold?" she whispered, not to anyone in particular. Her arms wrapped around herself, fingers tracing the golden accents on her attire. "I've never felt cold before. Never felt... vulnerable." Her composed, almost aloof expression cracked slightly as she looked up at the fractured sky. "This is not my kingdom. Not my world."
Tomoe Gozen—her silvery-white hair flowing freely down her back with a neat red ribbon tied at the side—immediately moved to a defensive position. Still clad in her ornate samurai armor of red, blue, and gold, she reached for the massive bow she normally carried, only to find it unresponsive to her call. Her fierce red eyes narrowed, and the prominent oni horns that curved from her forehead seemed to gleam dully in the strange light.
She tried to nock an arrow to her bow, but her hands trembled so violently that it clattered to the ground. Her normally composed warrior's demeanor cracked as she realized her strength had abandoned her.
"My bow... it doesn't answer," she said, her voice controlled despite the fear in her eyes. "My flames won't come." She glanced at Caelan, assessing him with a warrior's instinct. "You. You are strong here. What manner of warrior are you?"
U-Olga Marie paced frantically, her long white hair with orange tips whipping around as she turned. Her golden eyes with their sharp, inhuman pupils darted everywhere, taking in the broken landscape with growing horror. Her royal, fur-lined cape with its golden trim fluttered behind her, and her white-and-gold bodysuit seemed to have lost its celestial glow.
"This doesn't make sense," she muttered, her voice carrying the edge of someone used to command. "The mathematical probabilities—the cosmic constants—they're all wrong here. Everything's wrong!" She stopped suddenly, hands pressed to her temples. "I can't access the network. I can't see beyond. I'm... limited. Corporeal. This is impossible!"
Origin Space Ishtar attempted to warp away, her hands making the familiar gestures that had always allowed her to slip between dimensions. Her flowing, radiant hair in shades of deep violet and cyan swirled around her as she tried again and again, her bright eyes growing increasingly desperate. When nothing happened, her confident smile withered into a nervous grimace.
"The stars," she whispered, her voice unusually small for one who commanded galaxies. "I can't hear them anymore. The void doesn't answer my call." She looked up at the shattered sky, where strange constellations hung in impossible patterns. "These aren't my stars. This isn't my space."
Void Shiki stood motionless, her jet-black hair untouched by the ash that swirled around them all. Her flowing crimson kimono with black lining hung perfectly still despite the breeze that stirred the dust. Her pale violet eyes—windows to a power that could rewrite reality—were wide with something that might have been awe or terror.
"I see death," she whispered, her voice soft but carrying an unnatural weight. "Everywhere. In everything." Her gaze swept across the landscape before settling on Caelan. "Except in him. He has no ending. No death to be seen."
Female ORT's crystalline body flickered like a faulty hologram. Her iridescent strands of crystal-blue and silver hair seemed to be losing cohesion, and cracks spread across her translucent skin. Her fractal, kaleidoscopic eyes shifted shapes constantly as she tried to stabilize her form. She made no sound, but the air around her crackled with disturbed energy.
Space Ereshkigal clutched her massive twin-headed halberd-axe like a lifeline, though the weapon had lost its cosmic glow. Her luxurious long blonde hair, normally animated with divine energy, hung limply down her back, the teal bows and horn-like mechanical ribbons dull and lifeless. Her striking blue eyes darted nervously from companion to companion.
"This is just another underworld, right?" she laughed nervously, tightening her grip on her weapon. "Just... darker than I'm used to. More... final." But when she thought no one was looking, tears streamed down her face, catching on the crystalline teal crown atop her head.
And Tiamat—primordial mother, beast of calamity—stood tall and imposing despite her obvious distress. Her long violet-black hair flowed like rivers with ancient primordial braids, and her violet slit eyes shimmered with confusion and fear. Her flowing beast-silk robes and bone-like armor seemed to have lost their unearthly quality, and the giant skeletal-bone insectoid appendages that normally spread from her back were folded tightly against her body, as if wounded.
She tried to summon her protective mud, the essence of life itself that had birthed civilizations. When nothing came, she let out a keening wail that would have shattered mountains in her own world. Here, it was just the cry of a frightened, powerless being.
"My children," she moaned, her voice a discordant melody of grief. "I cannot feel my children. I cannot create. I cannot nurture. The womb of the world is... barren."
They were goddesses without divinity. Heroic spirits without heroes. Beasts without teeth.
And they were terrified.
Caelan Ashbrand observed them all with cold, analytical eyes that had witnessed the fall of greater deities than these. His expression remained unchanged throughout their various displays of confusion and fear—a mask of stone carved by countless battles. He didn't ask who they were or how they'd come to be here. Such questions were irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was that they existed now, here, in his domain.
He turned toward the seething black fog ahead—a miasma of godrot that had been spreading from the fractured Erdtree for weeks now. The Godslayer Greatsword seemed to hunger for it, the edge gleaming with anticipation.
"Stay close," he said, his voice deep and resonant, yet barely audible above the distant sounds of things that should not exist moving through the fog. "Or don't. I'll keep walking either way."
The women exchanged glances—confusion, fear, pride, and uncertainty warring in their expressions. They had been enemies once, allies at times, rivals and friends and strangers across the breadth of their respective realities. Now they were simply abandoned—stranded in a world where gods were prey.
And for all his coldness, the man before them was the only solid thing in a realm that seemed made of nightmare.
One by one, they followed.
CHAPTER II: THE NATURE OF WEAKNESS
The godrot fog clung to everything it touched, a living miasma that sought to corrupt and transform. It parted reluctantly before Caelan as he walked, the blackflame that perpetually smoldered within his armor repelling the worst of it. Behind him, the ten former goddesses huddled closer together than they would have ever done willingly in their own worlds.
"This place," Castoria whispered, staying as close to Caelan as she dared without actually touching him again. "It feels... wrong. Like it's trying to unmake itself."
"The gods are dead," Caelan replied without turning, his voice matter-of-fact. "The world hasn't decided what to be without them."
"In my universe, gods couldn't truly die," U-Olga Marie said, her analytical mind still trying to make sense of their situation despite her fear. "They would simply alter their manifestation or retreat to a higher dimension."
"Here, gods die," Caelan stated. "I've killed enough to know."
The bluntness of his statement sent a chill through the group. These women had been gods themselves—or god-adjacent beings of immense power. Now they followed a god-killer, dependent on him for their very survival.
"You hunt divinity," Void Shiki observed, her pale violet eyes fixed on Caelan's back. "Yet you protect us. Why?"
"You're not gods anymore," Caelan said simply. "You're mortal now. Vulnerable."
"And what exactly does that mean for us?" Beast Koyanskaya demanded, her fox ears flattened against her head in agitation. "Are we your pets now? Your captives?"
"It means," Caelan said, pausing to survey the path ahead, "that you're on the menu for everything that hunts in these lands. Including what's coming now."
The attack unfolded without sound—a blur of motion as something erupted from beneath the ash. A creature with too many limbs, its flesh a patchwork of scales and fur and things that resembled neither. Where its face should have been, there was only a gaping hole ringed with teeth that spiraled inward to infinity.
"God-remnant," Caelan said, the words delivered with the same emotional weight as one might comment on the weather. "Divine parasite feeding on memory."
The creature lunged for the nearest target—Castoria, who stood frozen in terror, her staff raised in a defensive gesture that would have summoned powerful wards in her own world. Here, it was just a stick of wood.
Caelan moved.
For all his size, for all the weight of his armor, he flowed like quicksilver. The Godslayer Greatsword—a weapon that should have been too large for any mortal to wield effectively—became a blur of black metal. It intercepted the creature mid-lunge, cleaving through mismatched limbs with surgical precision.
The wound glowed with embers—blackflame, ancient and hungry. The creature shrieked, its cry a discordant medley of stolen voices.
"Step back," Caelan instructed, pushing Castoria behind him with a casual strength that belied his gentle touch.
The god-remnant pulled itself upright, oozing a substance that was neither blood nor ichor but something in between. It charged again, this time aiming for Caelan himself.
He raised his left hand. A corona of golden-red energy spiraled from his fingertips as he summoned the power of ancient dragons. "Dragon's Maw."
The spectral jaws of a dragon materialized around the creature, clamping down with enough force to reduce mountains to rubble. When the phantom teeth receded, the god-remnant was little more than scattered pieces, each still twitching with unholy vigor.
Caelan didn't waste a moment. He stepped forward, black flames coalescing around his blade. "Blackflame Tornado."
He spun, a vortex of divine-hunting fire erupting from his sword. The flames consumed the remnants, leaving nothing but fine ash that was indistinguishable from the ground upon which they stood.
The entire engagement had lasted less than ten seconds.
The former goddesses stared in varying states of shock and awe. Even those who had been warriors in their own right—Tomoe Gozen, Space Ereshkigal, Beast Koyanskaya—seemed stunned by the efficient brutality of Caelan's combat style.
"Y-you didn't even hesitate," Castoria breathed, her teal eyes wide. "You just... eliminated it."
"It wanted to eat you," Caelan replied, sheathing his sword with practiced ease. "It won't be the last."
"What exactly was that abomination?" Summer Morgan asked, her composed demeanor returning despite the lingering fear in her eyes.
"Divine residue," Caelan explained, resuming their journey through the fog. "Fragments of dead gods trying to rebuild themselves." He glanced back at them. "This world is littered with them."
"Why did it attack us specifically?" Tomoe asked, her warrior's mind automatically seeking tactical understanding. "We pose no threat in this state."
"It wasn't after you," Caelan replied. "It was after what you were." His eyes—cold, calculating—swept over them. "You still carry the scent of divinity, even if the power is gone. To these things, you're food."
"Food," U-Olga Marie repeated, her golden eyes narrowing. "So we've gone from being at the top of the cosmic hierarchy to being prey. How... humbling."
"It's more than just hunger," Void Shiki said, her voice soft but carrying. "These remnants seek to absorb divinity to restore themselves. They want what we were so they can become what they once were." She looked at Caelan. "Just as the gods of this world tried to cling to their divinity when you came for them."
Caelan's expression remained unchanged, but something flickered in his steel-grey eyes—recognition, perhaps, of her insight.
Tiamat let out a low, mournful sound that seemed to vibrate through the earth itself. "Once, I was the ultimate mother. The creator. The beginning." Her violet slit eyes shimmered with unspilled tears. "Now, I am prey."
"How many of these things are there?" Space Ereshkigal asked, her spear clutched tightly against her chest. Her normally confident demeanor had given way to a nervous vigilance.
Caelan's gaze turned to the horizon, where shapes moved through the fog like shadows through water. "Countless."
"Then we're doomed," U-Olga Marie said flatly, her analytical mind already calculating their survival chances. "Without our powers, we cannot possibly—"
"You're not doomed," Caelan interrupted. "Not while I walk beside you."
"And why, exactly, should we trust you?" Beast Koyanskaya demanded, her tail bristling. "You're a god-killer by your own admission. We were gods. What's to stop you from deciding we're just more divine debris to be cleared away?"
Caelan turned back to the path ahead, already moving forward as if the encounter had been of no consequence. "This world breaks gods. It hunts them. Consumes them." A pause. "But I'm not a god. I'm what comes after."
He continued walking, his pace steady and unhurried despite the dangers that lurked in every shadow. "And you're not gods anymore. You're just women now. I don't kill women unless they try to kill me first."
The simplicity of his statement hung in the air, a promise more binding than any magical oath.
Female ORT, who had remained silent until now, her crystalline form still flickering with instability, finally spoke. Her voice was a strange harmonic, like multiple tones layered upon each other. "He speaks truth. I can... see it, even with my damaged perception. He has no interest in harming us."
"Unless we try to harm him," Summer Morgan added, her cool blue eyes assessing Caelan with new interest. "Which would be suicide in our current state."
"So we follow the god-killer and hope he continues to find us worthy of protection," Beast Koyanskaya said with a sardonic smile. "How delightfully ironic."
"We have little choice," Tomoe stated pragmatically. "We are in an unfamiliar world, stripped of our powers, surrounded by hostile entities. Tactical wisdom dictates we ally ourselves with the strongest available protector."
"It's not just about strength," Castoria said softly. "He could have left us at the summoning circle. He didn't have to warn us about the god-remnant. He chose to protect me." She looked at Caelan's back with a mixture of fear and gratitude. "Whatever else he is, he's not cruel."
"No," Void Shiki agreed, her pale violet eyes never leaving Caelan. "He's not cruel. But he's not kind either. He's... purpose given form."
The women exchanged glances—part fear, part awe, and part something deeper that none of them were prepared to name. Then, clustered closer than before, they followed their silent protector deeper into the fog.
The next attack came without warning. A writhing mass of twisted metal and bone erupted from the ground, forming into a vaguely humanoid shape with too many arms and a head that was little more than a jagged crown of teeth. It moved with unnatural speed, targeting Origin Space Ishtar, perhaps sensing the cosmic void that had once been her domain.
Caelan was between them in an instant, his Godslayer Greatsword already drawn. "Stars of Ruin," he intoned, and the air above him shimmered before erupting with countless points of celestial light. These weren't simple projectiles but condensed gravitational anomalies, each capable of distorting space itself.
They streaked toward the creature with unerring accuracy, boring through its metallic flesh and creating miniature black holes wherever they struck. The god-remnant screeched in a voice that sounded like grinding gears, its form already trying to regenerate from the devastating attack.
Caelan didn't give it the chance. He closed the distance in three long strides, his sword leaving a trail of blackflame in its wake. "Black Blade," he declared, and launched a wave of divine flame that reduced the creature's remaining form to smoldering ash.
Origin Space Ishtar stared at him, her bright eyes wide with shock and something that might have been admiration. "You... you used the stars against it. But they're not the same stars I know."
"The cosmos here plays by different rules," Caelan said, sheathing his sword once more. "But the fundamental principles are similar enough."
"You wield both sorcery and faith magic," U-Olga Marie observed, her analytical mind momentarily overcoming her fear. "That should be impossible. The metaphysical frameworks are incompatible."
"Nothing is impossible for one who has mastered all paths," Caelan replied. His tone wasn't boastful—just matter-of-fact.
The group continued their journey in tense silence, each processing what they had witnessed. Caelan's power was undeniable, but it was his calm in the face of cosmic horror that truly unnerved them. He moved through this nightmare landscape as if it were merely an inconvenience rather than an existential threat.
By the time the third attack came—another god-remnant, this one composed primarily of twisted, animate metal with glowing sigils etched into its surface—the pattern was clear. These creatures hunted divinity, and the former goddesses were like beacons in this desolate world.
Caelan dispatched it with the same ruthless efficiency as before, combining a devastating "Adula's Moonblade" sorcery with precise strikes from his Godslayer Greatsword. The creature never stood a chance.
But the frequency of the encounters had begun to take its toll on the women. They were gods without godhood, suddenly mortal in a world that hungered for divine flesh. The constant tension, the knowledge that they were being hunted, wore at their composure.
"We need shelter," Caelan announced after dispatching the third god-remnant. "Somewhere the fog can't reach."
"Is there such a place?" Castoria asked, her voice small with fatigue.
"Yes," Caelan replied. "An old cathedral. Not far."
He led them through the swirling fog, his path unerring despite the lack of visible landmarks. The women followed in exhausted silence, their former divinity weighing on them now like a curse rather than a blessing.
As they walked, Beast Koyanskaya moved closer to Tiamat, her slitted eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You were a proper divine beast in our world," she murmured, too low for the others to hear. "The original mother. Why are you so quiet now?"
Tiamat's violet eyes shifted to regard the fox-woman. "Because I am empty," she replied, her voice a hollow echo of its former resonance. "The womb of creation within me is silent. I am... incomplete."
"We're all incomplete," Beast Koyanskaya hissed. "But some of us aren't accepting it so easily."
"What choice do we have?" Tiamat asked, genuine curiosity in her tone. "We are as infants here. Helpless. Dependent on his mercy."
Beast Koyanskaya's tail lashed in agitation. "I refuse to be helpless. I refuse to be dependent. I was a deity of destruction, a force of nature. I will not be reduced to a cowering mortal."
"And yet," Tiamat observed with ancient wisdom, "here you are. Cowering with the rest of us."
Before Beast Koyanskaya could retort, Caelan raised his hand for silence. The group froze, suddenly alert.
"Something's coming," he said, his voice low. "Something bigger."
The ground beneath them trembled slightly, a rhythmic vibration that suggested massive weight moving with purpose. Through the godrot fog, a shape began to materialize—towering, twisted, and unmistakably divine in origin.
"What is that?" Space Ereshkigal whispered, her grip on her halberd tightening despite the weapon's current uselessness.
"God-corpse," Caelan replied, drawing his Godslayer Greatsword. "The animated remains of a lesser deity, puppeted by godrot."
The creature that emerged from the fog defied easy description. It resembled a massive humanoid figure, easily three times Caelan's height, but its proportions were wrong—limbs too long, torso too narrow, head too small for its frame. Its flesh was a patchwork of different textures and colors, as if assembled from pieces of various beings. Where its face should have been, there was only a smooth expanse of gold-veined marble, cracked and weathered by time.
In its chest cavity, visible through gaps in its mismatched flesh, pulsed a core of pure godrot—a swirling vortex of black fog that seemed to devour light itself.
"This one is beyond you," Caelan told the women, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Stay back. If I fall, run. Don't look back."
With those words, he stepped forward to meet the monstrosity, his sword blazing with blackflame.
The god-corpse noticed him immediately, its faceless head swiveling in his direction. It raised one massive, malformed arm and brought it crashing down with enough force to shatter the earth where Caelan had been standing a moment before.
But he was already moving, rolling to the side with inhuman grace despite his armor's weight. He came up in a fluid motion, his sword arcing upward to slice through the creature's wrist. Blackflame erupted along the cut, burning divine flesh with hungry enthusiasm.
The god-corpse made no sound—it had no mouth to scream with—but its body language spoke of rage and pain. It lashed out again, faster this time, its movements becoming more coordinated as if learning from each exchange.
Caelan dodged most of the blow, but the edge of the creature's massive hand caught him in the shoulder, sending him skidding backward through the ash. He regained his footing immediately, showing no sign of pain or concern.
"Terra Magica," he intoned, and a glowing sigil appeared beneath his feet, enhancing his already formidable magical abilities. The air around him crackled with potential energy.
The god-corpse charged, its movements suddenly fluid and purposeful. It was adapting, becoming more dangerous with each passing moment.
Caelan stood his ground, his sword held in a low guard. As the creature closed in, he raised his left hand toward the fractured sky. "Ancient Dragon's Lightning Strike."
The air split with a deafening crack as massive bolts of red-gold lightning crashed down upon the god-corpse. The divine electricity coursed through its patchwork body, illuminating it from within and causing the godrot core in its chest to writhe in apparent agony.
But still it came on, smoking and charred but unbroken.
"He needs help," Castoria said, starting forward despite her fear.
Tomoe Gozen caught her arm, pulling her back. "What would you do?" the warrior asked grimly. "We have no power here. We would only distract him."
"We can't just watch!" Castoria protested.
"We must," Void Shiki said, her pale violet eyes never leaving the battle. "This is his world. His fight. We would only be in the way."
The god-corpse was upon Caelan now, its massive hands grasping for him with relentless determination. He moved like water through its clutches, his sword leaving trails of blackflame with each precise cut. But the creature was learning, anticipating, its movements becoming more refined with each exchange.
A massive fist caught Caelan squarely in the chest, sending him crashing into a broken column. The stone cracked under the impact, dust and debris showering down around him.
The former goddesses gasped collectively, some instinctively moving forward before remembering their powerlessness.
Caelan rose from the rubble, completely unaffected. If anything, his eyes burned brighter with that cold, contained fire. He sheathed his sword—a move so unexpected that even the god-corpse seemed to hesitate.
"Flame, Grant Me Strength," he said, and a red-orange aura surrounded him, enhancing his already incredible physical abilities. Then, with deliberate calm, he assumed a stance that spoke of absolute focus.
"Comet Azur."
A beam of pure cosmic energy—blindingly bright and impossibly focused—erupted from his outstretched hands. It struck the god-corpse with such force that the very air seemed to shatter around the point of impact. The creature's patchwork body began to disintegrate under the assault, pieces of divine flesh and bone turning to ash and scattering on the wind.
But its core—that swirling vortex of godrot—remained intact, hovering in the air where the creature's chest had been.
Caelan didn't hesitate. He drew his Godslayer Greatsword once more and leapt forward with inhuman speed. The blackflame-wreathed blade pierced the heart of the godrot core, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Then the core exploded in a silent nova of black energy, sending ripples of force outward in all directions. Caelan stood at the epicenter, unmoved, his sword gradually lowering as the last wisps of godrot dissipated around him.
The entire battle had lasted less than two minutes.
He turned back to the group, his breathing only slightly elevated despite the power he had just wielded. "We continue," he said simply. "The cathedral is close."
The women stared at him in shocked silence. Even those who had been powerful in their own right—Tiamat, ORT, Void Shiki—seemed genuinely awed by the display.
"What... what are you?" Space Ereshkigal finally managed to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.
Caelan's expression remained impassive, but something flickered in his eyes—a weariness so profound it transcended simple fatigue. "The last," he said. "The only. The one who walked every path and mastered them all." He gestured ahead, where the godrot fog seemed to thin slightly. "Now, we go."
They followed him without further question, their perspective irrevocably altered. Whatever doubts they had harbored about his capabilities were gone. In their place was a dawning realization: in this world of dead gods and hungry remnants, Caelan Ashbrand was possibly the most dangerous entity of all.
And he was their only hope for survival.
CHAPTER III: SANCTUARY
The abandoned cathedral loomed against the fractured sky, its spires jutting upward like accusatory fingers. Once, it had been dedicated to the worship of the Two Fingers—divine messengers of a cosmic order now long dead. The statues had been toppled, the altars desecrated, but the walls still stood.
More importantly, the walls kept the godrot fog at bay.
"We'll rest here," Caelan announced as they approached the massive doors. It was the longest sentence he'd spoken in hours.
The cathedral's interior was cavernous and dark. Shafts of strange light poured through holes in the ceiling, illuminating dust motes that swirled like miniature galaxies. The remains of pews and religious icons littered the floor, broken and forgotten.
"It's... actually quite beautiful," Castoria ventured, her voice echoing slightly. She had stayed closest to Caelan throughout their journey, never more than arm's reach away. "In a sad sort of way."
"Beautiful?" Beast Koyanskaya scoffed, but there was less venom in her voice than usual. The day's dangers had left her subdued. "It's a ruin."
"Ruins can be beautiful," Summer Morgan spoke up. She had been largely silent since their arrival, lost in thoughts she wouldn't share. "They remind us that nothing lasts forever. Not even gods." A sad smile crossed her face. "I suppose we're learning that lesson quite personally now."
Tomoe Gozen had already begun examining the perimeter, her warrior's instincts undiminished despite her lost power. "Single entry point. Defensible position. Good sightlines." She nodded approvingly. "A tactically sound choice."
U-Olga Marie approached one of the broken altars, her golden eyes
U-Olga Marie approached one of the broken altars, her golden eyes studying the ancient carvings with scientific interest. "These symbols... they speak of cosmic order, but not one I recognize." She ran her fingers along the fractured stone. "A divine hierarchy completely foreign to our worlds."
Caelan moved to the center of the cathedral, where the remains of a great altar still stood. With methodical precision, he began arranging their makeshift camp. From seemingly nowhere, he produced dry wood for a fire, kindling it with a casual gesture that summoned a small flame to his fingertip.
The women watched in fascination. Such casual use of power—power they had once commanded in abundance but now could only dream of.
"You should eat," he told them, producing dried meat and fruits from the pack he carried. "Your bodies are mortal now. They have needs."
"Hunger," Beast Koyanskaya said with distaste, eyeing the dried meat as if it might bite her. "How... primitive."
"You'll get used to it," Caelan replied, distributing the provisions without ceremony.
Tiamat accepted her portion with unexpected gratitude, her violet eyes reflecting the firelight. "To consume rather than be consumed... there is wisdom in understanding both sides of creation."
The women gathered around the fire, an odd domesticity settling over the group. Divine beings reduced to huddling around flames like primitive humans, grateful for dried meat and fruit.
"So," Space Ereshkigal ventured, attempting to break the awkward silence, "does this cathedral have any significance? A power that keeps the... what did you call it? Godrot? At bay?"
"Consecrated ground," Caelan explained, stoking the fire. "Even dead gods leave echoes. This place was sanctified by the Two Fingers—envoys of the Greater Will. The godrot avoids it."
"The Greater Will?" Origin Space Ishtar perked up, her cosmic curiosity piqued. "What manner of entity was this? A true god, or merely a conceptual force?"
"Both. Neither." Caelan's expression remained unchanged. "A foreign entity that imposed order on the Lands Between. One of many outer gods that sought dominion here."
"And you killed it?" Summer Morgan asked, her cool blue eyes studying him with newfound interest.
"I killed its vessel. Its influence. Its chosen god." Caelan looked up, the flames casting strange shadows across his impassive face. "The Greater Will itself exists beyond my reach. For now."
The casual way he added those final two words sent a collective shiver through the group.
Void Shiki sat slightly apart, her pale violet eyes fixed on Caelan with an intensity that would have unnerved most men. "You have no death," she said softly.
The others fell silent, turning to look at her.
"What do you mean?" Space Ereshkigal asked. As a goddess of death herself—or former goddess—she understood the weight of such a statement.
Shiki's gaze never left Caelan. "Everyone has a death. Everything. It's woven into the fabric of existence itself. But him..." She shook her head slightly. "There's nothing. No end. No point of termination."
"That's impossible," U-Olga murmured. "All beings end. It's a universal constant."
"Not here," Caelan said, stoking the fire. "Not in the Lands Between. Death was stolen long ago. Sealed away." He looked up, the flames casting strange shadows across his impassive face. "Then the gods fell. The Erdtree burned. But death never quite returned as it should have."
Female ORT's crystalline form shimmered in the firelight, the cracks in her surface seeming to heal slightly in the cathedral's relative safety. "Is that why this world fears you?" she asked, her voice a strange harmonic. "Because you cannot die?"
Caelan was silent for a long moment. "This world fears me because I killed its gods." He rose, moving toward one of the cathedral's broken windows. "And I'm still hunting what they left behind."
The bluntness of his statement hung in the air. These women had been gods themselves—or god-adjacent beings of immense power. Now they sat in the presence of a god-killer, dependent on him for their very survival.
Tiamat, who had remained largely silent since their arrival, suddenly moved closer to the fire. In her own world, she had been the primordial mother, creator of life itself. Now she huddled like a child seeking warmth. "Why help us?" she asked, her voice carrying the echoes of a hundred harmonics even without her power. "We are... were... what you hunt."
Caelan turned from the window, his gaze finding each of them in turn. "You're not gods anymore. You're mortal. Vulnerable." His expression softened almost imperceptibly. "And I never let the vulnerable die. Not on my path."
"Well, isn't that reassuring," Beast Koyanskaya muttered, but there was no bite to her words. In fact, if one looked closely, one might have seen the faintest shimmer of tears in her eyes—quickly blinked away and denied.
They ate in silence after that, each lost in their own thoughts. The fire crackled, casting dancing shadows on ancient walls that had witnessed the rise and fall of divine epochs.
Outside, things moved in the godrot fog. Inside, ten former goddesses slept fitfully under the watchful gaze of the man who had outlasted heaven itself.
CHAPTER IV: UNEXPECTED WARMTH
Castoria woke with a start, heart pounding from a dream where she was dissolving into godrot fog. The cathedral was dark, the fire reduced to embers. She instinctively reached for her staff before remembering its powerlessness.
A rustling sound nearby made her freeze. She turned slowly, expecting some horror to have breached their sanctuary—only to find Beast Koyanskaya curled up against her side, fox ears twitching in sleep.
"She got cold," came Caelan's quiet voice from the shadows. He sat cross-legged near one of the broken windows, his back straight, his eyes reflecting the faint glow of embers. "Pride kept her from admitting it."
Castoria smiled despite herself. "I didn't expect such... vulnerability from her. In our world, she was quite fearsome."
"Predators become prey when circumstances change," Caelan observed. "The adaptation isn't always graceful."
Castoria carefully extracted herself from Koyanskaya's unconscious grip and moved to sit near Caelan. In the dim light, his features seemed less severe, though no less handsome.
"Have you been awake all night?" she asked.
"I don't sleep," he replied simply.
"Ever?"
"No."
"That sounds... lonely."
He didn't respond to that, his gaze returning to the window and the shifting fog beyond.
"Thank you," she said after a moment. "For yesterday. For everything."
"It wasn't personal," he replied. "I'd have done the same for any of you."
"I know. That's why I'm thanking you." A small smile touched her lips. "You're not what I expected a god-killer to be like."
Before he could respond, a loud crash from the far end of the cathedral startled them both. Caelan was on his feet instantly, sword drawn, moving with silent efficiency toward the sound.
The crash had woken the others as well. Tomoe was already in a defensive stance, while U-Olga and Summer Morgan huddled together, eyes wide with alarm.
"What was that?" Space Ereshkigal whispered, clutching her now-useless halberd.
Caelan reached the source of the disturbance—a section of the ceiling that had collapsed, bringing down a statue of what appeared to be a divine figure with too many arms. But it wasn't the fallen statue that drew their attention.
Pinned beneath the rubble was a creature unlike anything they had seen so far. It resembled a massive wolf, but its fur was metallic, shifting colors like oil on water. Where its eyes should have been, there were only swirling vortices of godrot, and its teeth gleamed with the same otherworldly light as the fractured sky outside.
"A watchdog," Caelan identified it, the Godslayer Greatsword already burning with blackflame in his hands. "They guard the boundaries between divine realms. This one must have sensed your presence."
The creature snarled, a sound like metal grinding against stone. Despite being partially trapped under the rubble, it radiated menace and power far beyond the god-remnants they had encountered earlier.
"Stay back," Caelan commanded, stepping forward to finish the trapped beast.
But before he could strike, the watchdog's form seemed to... split. Like an image duplicating itself, a second identical beast stepped sideways out of the first, completely unhindered by the rubble. Then a third emerged, and a fourth, until five identical watchdogs surrounded Caelan, their metallic fur bristling with divine energy.
"Projections," Caelan muttered, adjusting his stance. "It's not really here."
The watchdogs attacked as one, their movements perfectly synchronized. Caelan's sword became a blur of blackflame, intercepting the first beast mid-lunge and cleaving through its spectral form. The projection dissipated like smoke, but the others pressed their advantage, forcing Caelan to roll backwards, narrowly avoiding razor-sharp teeth.
"Beast Claw," he intoned, slamming his palm against the ground. Massive spectral claws erupted from the cathedral floor, ripping through two more projections and sending them howling back to whatever realm they had come from.
The remaining two watchdogs circled warily, learning from their fallen companions. One feinted forward while the other lunged from behind, forcing Caelan to divide his attention.
In a move that defied human limitations, he leapt straight up, higher than should have been possible, allowing the watchdogs to crash into each other below. As he descended, his sword glowed with intensifying blackflame.
"Black Flame Ritual," he declared, and upon landing, a circle of divine-hunting fire erupted outward, engulfing both projections and reducing them to wisps of fading energy.
The original watchdog, still pinned beneath the rubble, thrashed with renewed fury, its godrot eyes fixed on the former goddesses with undisguised hunger.
"Finish it," Tomoe urged, her warrior's instinct recognizing the danger even in its trapped state.
Caelan approached the creature with measured steps, his sword raised for the killing blow. But as he drew near, the watchdog's struggles ceased, and it made a sound so unexpected that everyone froze.
It whimpered.
Not the snarl of a predator or the roar of a divine beast, but the pitiful cry of an injured animal. Its godrot eyes flickered, momentarily revealing ordinary canine eyes beneath—confused, frightened, in pain.
Caelan hesitated, the Godslayer Greatsword still raised.
"It's... playing with you," Beast Koyanskaya warned, her fox nature giving her insight into predatory tactics. "Trying to trigger your mercy."
"Or perhaps it's as much a victim as we are," Castoria suggested, stepping forward cautiously. "Corrupted by godrot, but still... alive underneath."
Caelan studied the creature for a long moment. Then, to everyone's surprise, he sheathed his sword. "Hold it down," he instructed, moving to lift the heaviest chunk of rubble.
"Are you insane?" U-Olga Marie exclaimed. "That thing tried to kill us!"
"It tried to fulfill its purpose," Caelan corrected, already straining against the massive stone. "Now I'm fulfilling mine."
After a moment's hesitation, several of the women moved to help. Tiamat, still physically strong despite her lost divinity, took position at Caelan's side. Tomoe and Space Ereshkigal held the watchdog's head and forelegs, while Female ORT used her still partially-crystalline body to brace against the creature's flank.
Together, they managed to free the watchdog from the debris. It lay panting on the cathedral floor, its metallic fur dented and torn, godrot still swirling in its eyes but less intensely now.
Caelan knelt beside it, placing one hand on its massive head. A soft golden light emanated from his palm—not blackflame or cosmic energy, but something gentler.
"Blessing of the Erdtree," he murmured, and the healing magic flowed into the watchdog, mending its physical wounds. The godrot in its eyes, however, remained.
"The corruption is too deep," he concluded, withdrawing his hand. "I can't cleanse it completely."
"Then what was the point?" Summer Morgan asked, keeping a safe distance. "It will still try to hunt us once it recovers."
Caelan rose, his expression unreadable. "Not everything that lives deserves to die. Even in this world."
The watchdog struggled to its feet, swaying slightly. It regarded Caelan with its godrot eyes, head tilted in what might have been confusion. Then, with surprising gentleness, it pressed its muzzle against his hand before limping toward the cathedral doors, which opened just enough to let it pass into the godrot fog beyond.
"That was... unexpected," Origin Space Ishtar said, watching the creature disappear. "I thought your purpose was to kill divine things."
"My purpose is to silence what the gods left behind," Caelan corrected. "Sometimes silence comes through death. Sometimes through mercy." He turned back to the group. "We should prepare to move. That watchdog won't be the last visitor we get."
As the women gathered what few possessions they had, Castoria moved to Caelan's side, her expression thoughtful. "You're full of contradictions," she observed. "The merciless god-killer who shows mercy to a divine beast."
"Not contradictions," he replied. "Balance."
"Still," she pressed, emboldened by what she had witnessed, "there's more to you than just purpose and power. There's... humanity."
Caelan glanced at her, and for a brief moment, something flickered in his steel-grey eyes—something almost like warmth. "Perhaps."
The moment was interrupted by Beast Koyanskaya, who approached with unusual hesitation. "I... may have misjudged you," she admitted grudgingly. "Slightly."
Caelan inclined his head in acknowledgment but said nothing.
"Where are we going now?" Void Shiki asked, appearing silently beside them. Her pale violet eyes seemed to look through Caelan rather than at him.
"There's a settlement nearby," he replied. "Survivors who've adapted to the new world. We can find supplies there. Proper weapons for those of you who can use them."
"Weapons?" U-Olga Marie looked up sharply. "You expect us to fight those... those aberrations?"
"I expect you to defend yourselves if necessary," Caelan replied. "The Lands Between is vast. I can't always be everywhere at once."
"You're not... leaving us, are you?" Castoria asked, unable to hide the alarm in her voice.
"No." The single word carried a weight of reassurance that seemed at odds with Caelan's otherwise stoic demeanor. "But you need to start adapting to this world. Like that watchdog did."
As they prepared to depart, Tomoe approached Caelan with the formality of a samurai addressing her lord. "I would learn from you," she stated simply. "Your combat techniques. Your understanding of this world's weapons."
Caelan studied her for a moment, recognizing the warrior's spirit that remained undiminished despite her lost power. "It won't be easy," he warned. "The weapons here are forged from remnants of gods and dragons. They require more than just skill to wield."
"I am prepared for the challenge," Tomoe replied, meeting his gaze without flinching.
"Very well." He inclined his head slightly. "We'll begin your training at the settlement."
A hint of a smile touched Tomoe's lips—the first any of them had seen from the stoic warrior. "Thank you... Master."
The term of respect seemed to catch Caelan off guard. For a brief moment, the mask of impassivity slipped, revealing something almost like embarrassment beneath. He recovered quickly, but not before several of the women had noticed.
Beast Koyanskaya leaned close to Space Ereshkigal, a mischievous glint in her slitted eyes. "Well, well," she whispered. "Our stone-faced god-killer can be flustered after all. How... interesting."
Space Ereshkigal suppressed a giggle, covering it with a cough when Caelan glanced in their direction. "Perhaps he's not as immune to feminine charms as he pretends to be."
"Don't be ridiculous," U-Olga Marie scoffed, though she had also observed the moment with scientific interest. "He's simply unused to such formality."
"Regardless," Summer Morgan interjected, her cool blue eyes assessing Caelan with new consideration, "he's proving to be far more complex than first appearances suggested."
The women gathered at the cathedral doors, ready to venture once more into the godrot fog. Despite the dangers that awaited, there was a subtle shift in their demeanor—a hint of confidence that hadn't been there before. And though none would admit it aloud, their eyes lingered on Caelan's broad shoulders and decisive movements with growing appreciation.
He might be a god-killer, but he was also their protector. Their guide. And perhaps, given time, something more.
CHAPTER V: THE SETTLEMENT'S EMBRACE
The journey to the settlement was surprisingly uneventful. Whether due to the watchdog's presence having scared off lesser predators or Caelan's growing reputation among the divine remnants, they encountered no significant threats along the way.
This gave the former goddesses time to observe their protector more closely. Caelan moved with quiet efficiency, his eyes constantly scanning their surroundings for danger. There was an economy to his movements—nothing wasted, nothing for show. Yet beneath that utilitarian exterior, they began to notice other things: how he would subtly adjust his pace to accommodate the slower members of their group; how he would position himself between them and potential threats without being asked; how his hand would occasionally rest on the hilt of his sword, not in preparation to draw, but in what seemed almost like a reassuring gesture to himself.
"He's lonely," Castoria whispered to Void Shiki as they walked. "I can feel it."
Shiki's pale violet eyes studied Caelan's back. "Yes," she agreed softly. "A solitude that transcends mere isolation. To walk between worlds—between life and death—without belonging to either."
"Maybe that's why he's helping us," Castoria suggested. "Not just because we're vulnerable, but because..."
"Because we understand what it means to be displaced," Tiamat finished, having overheard their conversation. The former mother goddess's violet eyes held ancient wisdom despite her current state. "To exist in a world not meant for us."
The settlement of Last Grace appeared on the horizon as the godrot fog thinned. Unlike the cathedral, which had been a relic of divine order, Last Grace was defiantly human—a collection of mismatched structures built from the debris of the old world. Stone walls, partially collapsed but still formidable, encircled the community. Torches lined the ramparts, their flames a warm counterpoint to the cold light of the fractured sky.
As they approached the main gate, Caelan raised his hand, signaling for the group to halt. "There are customs here," he explained. "Protocols for newcomers. Let me do the talking."
The gates swung open before they reached them, and a figure emerged to meet them. It was a man of imposing stature—nearly as tall as Caelan but twice as broad, with a beard that reached his chest and arms covered in intricate tattoos that seemed to move of their own accord.
"The Ashbrand returns!" the man boomed, his voice carrying across the distance between them. "And with company, no less!"
"Heldric," Caelan acknowledged with a slight nod. "We need shelter. Supplies."
"Direct as ever," Heldric laughed, clapping Caelan on the shoulder with enough force to stagger an ordinary man. Caelan didn't budge. "Come! Come! Any friend of the Ashbrand is welcome in Last Grace."
As they approached the gate, Heldric's eyes widened at the sight of the ten women behind Caelan. "By the fallen Erdtree," he murmured, "you've been busy, haven't you? I've never seen you with companions before, let alone such... striking ones."
If Caelan was embarrassed by the implication, he didn't show it. "They're not from here," he stated flatly. "The Summoning Circle in Farum Azula activated. Brought them from other worlds."
Heldric's jovial expression sobered immediately. "The Circle? After all this time?" He studied the women with new intensity. "Then they're... what? Travelers? Refugees?"
"Former divinities," Caelan replied, his tone making it clear he saw no reason to dissemble. "Powerless now. Hunted by god-remnants."
Heldric's eyebrows shot up. "Former... divinities?" He let out a low whistle. "Well, that explains the otherworldly beauty." He glanced at Caelan with newfound respect. "And you're protecting them. You, the god-killer."
"The irony isn't lost on me," Caelan said dryly.
Heldric threw back his head and laughed, the sound startling in its genuine mirth. "That's the most human thing I've ever heard you say!" He gestured expansively toward the open gates. "Come! Last Grace will shelter you all. And tonight, we feast in honor of the Ashbrand's return—and his divine companions!"
As they passed through the gates, the women got their first look at human civilization in the post-divine world. People moved among the buildings—humans, mostly, but with the occasional oddity that spoke to the chaotic nature of the Lands Between. A man with the lower body of a crab hauled water barrels. A woman whose skin shimmered with what looked like embedded stars haggled over dried meat. Children—perfectly human in appearance—played in the ash, building castles from the remains of gods.
"They're... thriving," Summer Morgan observed, genuine surprise in her voice. "After everything that's happened, they're building a life."
"Humans adapt," Caelan replied. "It's what they do best."
"You say 'they' as if you're not one of them," Origin Space Ishtar noted, her bright eyes curious.
Caelan didn't respond, his attention already on the path ahead.
Their arrival drew stares—not hostile, but wary and intensely curious. The settlement wasn't large, perhaps three hundred souls in total, and strangers were clearly uncommon.
"The divine executioner returns!" someone called out, and the phrase was repeated, passing through the gathering crowd like a wave. "The Ashbrand is here!"
To the women's surprise, people began to approach, reaching out to touch Caelan's armor or sword with reverent fingers. He allowed it without comment, though his expression remained stoic.
"They worship you," Beast Koyanskaya observed, fascinated by the display.
"They shouldn't," Caelan replied, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "I'm not what they think I am."
"And what is that?"
"A savior." His steel-grey eyes met hers briefly. "I only kill what needs killing. The rest is their own doing."
Before she could respond, Heldric was ushering them forward, toward what appeared to be the central building of the settlement—a large structure that might have once been part of a castle or fortress, now repurposed as a communal hall.
"We've prepared rooms for you all," he announced, gesturing to a smaller building adjacent to the hall. "The feast will begin at sunset. Until then, feel free to explore Last Grace. The Ashbrand's companions have nothing to fear here."
As the crowd dispersed and Heldric moved away to make preparations, the women found themselves momentarily alone with Caelan in the settlement's central square.
"You're... celebrated here," Castoria said, watching as children peeked at them from around corners, their eyes wide with wonder.
"I've helped them in the past," Caelan explained simply. "Cleared out nests of godrot. Drove back the more aggressive remnants."
"It's more than that," Void Shiki observed, her pale violet eyes taking in the settlement with eerie perception. "You're their symbol. Their proof that even gods can fall."
"Man ascendant," Summer Morgan mused, her cool blue eyes thoughtful. "How fitting, coming from a world where divinity trampled humanity underfoot."
Caelan seemed uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. "You should rest," he suggested, nodding toward their assigned lodging. "The settlement is safe, but unfamiliar. Conserve your strength."
"And what will you do?" Tomoe asked, her warrior's instinct still attuned to his movements.
"Scout the perimeter," he replied. "Make sure our arrival didn't draw unwanted attention."
With that, he turned and moved away, his tall figure soon disappearing among the buildings of Last Grace.
The women exchanged glances, suddenly aware that this was the first time they had been left truly alone since their arrival in this world.
"Well," Beast Koyanskaya said, stretching languidly, her fox ears twitching with interest, "shall we explore this little human nest? I'm curious to see what passes for civilization in a world without gods."
"We should stick together," Tomoe advised, her eyes still scanning their surroundings with military precision. "Unknown territory, even if supposedly friendly."
"I agree," U-Olga Marie added, her analytical mind already categorizing everything she saw. "Besides, we might learn valuable information about this world—and our taciturn protector."
The women moved as a group into the settlement, drawing even more curious stares than before. Without Caelan's intimidating presence, the inhabitants of Last Grace seemed more willing to approach, offering cautious greetings and curious questions.
A young woman with flowers growing from her hair—a mutation common in the post-divine world, they would learn—approached Castoria with a basket of fresh bread. "For the Ashbrand's companions," she said, her voice melodic but shy. "We are honored by your presence."
"Thank you," Castoria replied, taking the offering with a warm smile. "Your hospitality is most welcome."
"Is it true?" the flower-haired woman asked, glancing nervously at the others. "What Heldric said? That you were... divine?"
The women exchanged uncomfortable glances. It was Tiamat who finally responded, her voice gentle despite its otherworldly harmonics. "We were many things, child. Now we are simply travelers, grateful for your kindness."
The answer seemed to satisfy the young woman, who bowed slightly before retreating.
"Interesting," Female ORT observed, her crystalline voice drawing attention from nearby settlers. "They fear divinity, yet they're fascinated by it."
"Like children who have overthrown their parents," Summer Morgan suggested. "Both liberation and loss."
Their exploration led them to what appeared to be a marketplace, where settlers traded goods and services in a complex bartering system. There were no coins or traditional currency—instead, items were valued by their utility and rarity.
"Look at this," Space Ereshkigal called, drawing their attention to a stall displaying weapons. Unlike the crude implements they had expected, these were works of art—swords, bows, and daggers crafted from materials that seemed to glow with inner light.
"Godbone weapons," the stall keeper explained proudly, noticing their interest. "Forged from the remains of lesser deities. Not as powerful as what the Ashbrand wields, but effective against the remnants."
Tomoe picked up a katana with reverent hands, feeling its perfect balance. The blade was milk-white with veins of gold running through it, and it hummed faintly in her grip.
"That one came from the corpse of a minor moon deity," the stall keeper said. "Light as starlight, sharp as divine judgment. It would suit you, warrior."
Before Tomoe could respond, a commotion near the settlement's east wall drew their attention. People were running, some pointing toward the sky where a dark shape circled overhead.
"Dragon," someone shouted. "Dragon approaching!"
The marketplace erupted in controlled chaos as settlers rushed to predefined positions. Children were ushered into the sturdiest buildings, while adults armed themselves with godbone weapons and took up defensive stances along the wall.
The women moved instinctively toward the disturbance, drawn by both curiosity and concern. As they reached the east wall, they saw Caelan already there, his Godslayer Greatsword drawn but held in a relaxed stance.
The creature circling overhead was indeed a dragon, but unlike any they had seen in their respective worlds. Its scales were obsidian black shot through with veins of molten gold, and where its eyes should have been, there were only swirling vortices of cosmic energy. Six wings of varying sizes kept it aloft, their movements oddly unsynchronized yet somehow harmonic.
"Is it hostile?" Tomoe asked, joining Caelan at the wall.
"No," he replied, sheathing his sword in a smooth motion. "It's just curious. Dragons in the Lands Between are intelligent—the last true divine beings that I've allowed to live."
"You've allowed?" Beast Koyanskaya echoed, her fox ears perked with interest. "So you truly are the arbiter of divinity here."
Caelan glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "Someone has to be."
The dragon circled lower, its massive head tilting to observe the settlement more closely. When its gaze fell upon the former goddesses, it let out a low, resonant rumble that seemed to vibrate through the very stones beneath their feet.
"It recognizes what you were," Caelan explained. "Dragons remember the old hierarchies, even if they no longer apply."
To everyone's surprise, the dragon suddenly folded its wings and descended toward them, landing with surprising grace just outside the settlement walls. Up close, it was even more magnificent—easily the size of a small building, its presence exuding ancient power and wisdom.
"Malacanth," Caelan addressed it, inclining his head slightly. "What brings you to Last Grace?"
The dragon's maw opened, revealing teeth like polished obsidian. But instead of a roar, what emerged was a voice—deep, melodic, and distinctly feminine.
"Ashbrand," the dragon replied, the title sounding like both respect and accusation. "I felt the summoning. The breach between worlds." Her swirling cosmic eyes fixed on the women. "I felt them arrive."
"They pose no threat," Caelan stated. "They've lost their divinity."
"Have they?" Malacanth's massive head tilted, studying the women with ancient intelligence. "Or is it merely... dormant? The flame banked, not extinguished?"
The suggestion sent a ripple of hope and unease through the group. Could their powers possibly return? Or was the dragon simply seeing echoes of what once was?
"Either way," Caelan said firmly, "they're under my protection."
Malacanth made a sound that might have been laughter—a rumbling cascade of musical notes. "How ironic, Godslayer. You, who have consumed more divine essence than any being in the Lands Between, now play shepherd to fallen deities."
"Consumed?" U-Olga Marie repeated, her golden eyes widening with sudden understanding. "You don't just kill gods. You... absorb them."
Caelan didn't deny it. "Their power doesn't disappear. It transfers. It's how I reached level 713—maximum potential in all attributes."
"So that's how a human achieved such power," Summer Morgan mused, her cool blue eyes reassessing him. "Divine cannibalism."
"A necessity," Caelan replied, unaffected by her characterization. "Not a choice."
Malacanth's cosmic eyes studied him with what might have been amusement. "Always so serious, Ashbrand. So... purposeful." Her gaze shifted to the women once more. "But these newcomers bring something you've lacked in your endless hunt. Something you've forgotten in your single-minded quest."
"And what's that?" Caelan asked, a hint of wariness in his tone.
"Companionship," the dragon replied simply. "Connection. The very things you severed when you chose to walk the path of the god-killer."
Before Caelan could respond, Malacanth's attention shifted abruptly. Her head snapped toward the eastern horizon, where the godrot fog seemed to be thickening, coalescing into something more purposeful.
"Something comes," she warned, her voice losing its philosophical edge. "Something drawn by the scent of fallen divinity. Something... hungry."
Caelan was immediately alert, his hand returning to the hilt of his sword. "How many?"
"Many," Malacanth replied grimly. "A convergence of remnants, moving with unusual coordination." She spread her six wings, preparing to take flight. "I will scout their numbers and delay if possible. Prepare your defenses, Ashbrand. This attack will test even your considerable abilities."
With a powerful downstroke of her wings, Malacanth launched herself skyward, her obsidian form soon disappearing into the darkening sky.
Caelan turned to the settlers, who had been watching the exchange with a mixture of awe and fear. "Secure the walls," he commanded, his voice carrying effortless authority. "Arm