Deep within the obsidian halls of the Crimson Crucible, where rivers of molten divine essence flowed between monolithic statues of slaughtered deities, the Ancient God of War stirred.
His throne sat suspended in midair — forged from the skulls of extinct titans, rimmed with fractured soul cores of fallen rivals. Chains of divine memory hung from the ceiling like webbing, each tied to a surveillance point scattered across the Divine Continent.
He sat motionless, armored in shadow-forged plate, skin the color of scorched bronze, his eyes twin pools of smoldering red. Around him, a dozen lesser gods knelt in reverent silence.
Until it happened.
One of the chains above him — bound to a soul-thread buried within the southern fog — snapped.
It didn't burst. It didn't dissolve.
It shattered.
The God of War's eyes slowly opened. A pulse of restrained violence rippled from his body. The kneeling gods flinched — even the ones without flesh — as their divine cores throbbed with primal dread.
He raised one gauntleted hand. His aura did not roar.
It descended.
The soul residue from the destroyed sentinel was already streaming into his divine pool. He reached into it with his will, analyzing the final echoes left behind.
[Last Recorded Data — Night Sentinel Soul #7]
Location: Verdant-Designated Territory, Sector 9
Status: Passive Surveillance
Termination Type: Unknown
Final Signal: Soul Severed
Cause: ???
A deep silence followed.
Then a whisper escaped him — not to anyone, but to the fabric of war itself.
"Impossible…"
His voice carried across the blackstone chambers like the toll of a distant war drum.
"No Novice God has access to soul-killing artifacts... not at Rank 1."
The kneeling gods said nothing. One of them trembled faintly — a fire-wreathed demigod who had once commanded a thousand realms, now reduced to silence under the War God's presence.
He stood slowly.
Towers within the Crucible groaned as reality bent slightly to accommodate his wrath.
"None of the new children should be able to perceive my scouts… much less sever their anchors."
He raised one hand toward a glowing mural in the air — a map of the Divine Continent overlayed with data threads. Dozens of signals pulsed faintly from his various watch points.
Only one was now dark.
The Verdant Domain.
He stared at it.
"No fallen star should be able to ward off my gaze."
He considered all possibilities.
"Another ancient god?" he murmured. "No. They're forbidden from entering novice zones. The Divine Will would notice."
He began to pace slowly across the war-scorched marble.
"Then it must be a hidden pawn," he said aloud, more to himself than to the others. "A child blessed by a long-forgotten line… or worse…"
He stopped.
A long moment passed.
Then he turned to one of the kneeling gods — a woman in crimson armor whose mouth was stitched shut by living chain-link.
"Open a War Thread to Sector 9. Quietly. No rituals. No banners. No domain claim."
She bowed, standing shakily, and vanished into smoke.
He turned back to the map.
The Verdant Domain still glowed faintly, green and soft.
But now he watched it differently.
Not as a curiosity.
But as a problem.
.........
Clark mind shot rapidly
"God of War…"
The name hung in his mind like a sword tip aimed at the back of his neck.
He didn't know much about ancient gods. He didn't need to.
But he remembered the thread that once tried to bind itself to him — back when he first awakened. A sponsorship veiled as generosity. He had severed it.
Now it seemed the old war god had come looking again.
This time, quieter.
Watching.
And Clark had killed the watcher.
The Verdant Sword rested against his spine, now silent. But the moment he had unleashed Adonis Kratus, he had felt the blow connect not just with the soul — but with someone's attention.
The cut had landed farther than he could see.
He stared into the mist.
What would follow?
A challenge? A curse? A divine denunciation?
No answer came.
Instead—
[GLOBAL CHAT — ALERT PING ×67M]
The interface flared to life.
Lines of chaos flooded in:
[BloodLord]: "Verdant God? Yeah, he's fake. No real god grows skill-granting fruit on Day 4."
[IronCleft]: "He's probably a puppet of a fallen deity. You see how quiet he is? No alliances, no public faith records. Suspicious."
[AshSeer]: "I heard he stole his orchard from another domain. How else do you explain peaches with dual effects? That's Monarch-tier nonsense."
[BloodLord]: "Our god was sponsored by the War Father himself. He says Verdant is hoarding a corrupted artifact. The peaches aren't a blessing — they're a mutation."
[GoreMage]: "Then it makes sense why the system hasn't reacted. He's flying under divine radar."
[BoneShaper]: "Let's gather and raid. Sector 9 isn't far. A dozen of us could crack it."
Clark's gaze sharpened.
Blood-Lord. The name pulsed red beside every message.
A new god — but already formed a faction with over 10,000 new gods -The Blood Alliance.
And now the leader was publicly spreading fear, using the God of War's name to lend weight to it.
Clark exhaled slowly.
This wasn't coincidence.
This was retaliation — not through declaration, but through manipulation.
"Discredit what you cannot control."
That was how gods waged war in the open.
Not with swords.
But with doubt.
Clark leaned against one of the stone pillars of the Verdant God Palace, arms crossed as the global chat continued to pour across his divine interface like a flooding river.
It had only been minutes since the first wave of accusations started.
Now the rhetoric had escalated into organized frenzy.
[GLOBAL CHAT – DIVINE CONTINENT]
[BloodLord]: "He's not one of us. Verdant God hasn't declared allegiance, trade circle, or faith oath. He's hiding something."
[WraithBinder]: "Nobody gets artifact-grade fruit on Day 4. Not without breaking system limits."
[StormHound]: "Our alliance demands the Verdant God undergo a Divine Audit. Public domain scan. If he refuses — he's guilty."
[GodOfIvory]: "This feels coordinated… how do you all know so much about one god's domain?"
[DawnPriestess]: "Wait, why is the Blood Alliance pushing this so hard? He traded fairly. I received a mid-tier peach. It healed my Champion!"
[CrimsonSpire]: "Yeah, I got one too. It advanced my skill scroll. This is jealousy, not justice."
[BloodLord]: "Funny how the defenders are always those who benefited from his corruption. Coincidence?"
[ThornFlame]: "Verdant God's fruit is cursed. My villagers went mad after eating two in a row. There's no system confirmation — ask yourself why."
[AshThirst]: "Anyone else notice Verdant God never speaks in chat? Cowards hide behind silence."
[BloodLord]: "Our alliance speaks for 10,000 gods. We will cleanse this anomaly."
Clark said nothing.
He simply watched.
Some gods — a few dozen — still defended him. But their voices were scattered, uncoordinated. And soon drowned by the sheer volume coming from the Blood Alliance.
That name had only emerged today.
But already, it sat like a crimson banner across the entire divine channel — its members tagged with a faint red-gold symbol beside their usernames: [✦].
He opened the alliance tracker window.
[Blood Alliance – Overview]
Active Members: 10,387
Core Sponsor: God of War
Territory Cluster: Central Divine Ring
Known Champions: BloodLord (Rank 1, Mid-Tier), 7 Officers
Known Assets:
— Public War Market
— Two Shared Training Sanctums
— Sponsorship-backed Bounties
Clark's eyes lingered on the sponsor line.
God of War.
So this was how he moved now — not through brute force, but through volume. 10,000 novice gods, each hungry, each weaponized by belief. And at their center: a tool to spread fear.
BloodLord.
"He's not even lying," Clark thought. He doesn't need to. He just distorts."
Still, he didn't respond.
He didn't open his mouth.
Didn't defend himself.
Because truth wouldn't win this battle.
And if they wanted to paint him as a threat — fine.
He would show them what it looked like when the threat answered.
......
The screen dimmed.
Clark exhaled slowly as the last flood of global messages faded from his vision.
His mind was calm. But his domain was no longer invisible.
The moment the Blood Alliance declared him an anomaly, the Verdant Domain had become a target — not by direct war, but by curiosity. Suspicion. Obsession.
The kind of attention that drew assassins before armies.
He turned from the overlook and descended into the eastern courtyard, where Seraphiel waited beneath a blossoming jade-lantern tree, adjusting the bindings of her winged armor.
She always prepared early for night patrol.
When she saw him approach, she dropped to one knee without a word.
"You don't need to kneel," he said.
He folded his arms. The breeze passed through the trees above them, rustling the lantern-blossoms in soft waves.
"I'm adjusting the patrol routes," he said. "Keep the formations tighter. No long-range scouts tonight."
Seraphiel's eyes flicked up, reading the tension behind his words.
"Are we expecting a threat?"
"Not yet," he answered. "But eyes are turning toward us — t."
She stood smoothly, her wings folding behind her.
"I'll double the perimeter runs. I will take the Crusaders. And move the patrol near the orchard inward by twenty meters."
Clark nodded.
"Good," he said. "And Seraphiel—"
She paused.
"Don't engage anything that doesn't trigger the Divine Fog markers."
Her brows furrowed. "Even if it crosses the threshold?"
"If it doesn't trip the mists," Clark said quietly, "it might not belong to the beasts."
There was a long silence.
Then Seraphiel nodded once. "Understood."
She stepped back, her hand on her blade's hilt. Her presence vanished into the darkness like a swallowed flame.
Clark remained under the tree a while longer, alone.
The wind had shifted.