1354 Harriet Hunt’s State

“Yes, Father,” Salesi said, her voice barely a whisper. She didn’t dare linger, not with Andohr in this state. She practically fled the throne room, leaving a trail of fear and uncertainty in her wake.

The moment the doors closed behind her, Andohr unleashed his fury.

He whirled on a nearby statue, a priceless depiction of some long-forgotten goddess, her serene features now mocking him with their calm indifference.

“Damn you!” he roared, his voice echoing through the empty throne room. “Damn you, Dark Lord! You think you can steal from me? You think you can defy me and get away with it?”

He lashed out, his hand crackling with temporal energy, striking the statue with a force that shattered it into a million pieces.

“You took the blood,” he snarled, his voice dripping with venom. “But you won’t get away with it. I’ll find you. And when I do…”

He trailed off, his eyes blazing with a cold fury that promised a fate worse than death.

“You’ll beg for mercy,”

As he thought about the upcoming reckoning, a cruel smile twisted Andohr’s lips. He turned, striding towards a darkened corner of the throne room. A large, ornate mirror, its surface as black as obsidian, hung on the wall. With a casual wave of his hand, Andohr channeled his power. The mirror rippled, the darkness within its depths swirling and coalescing.

An image flickered into existence. A cage, woven from thorns that pulsed with a sickly green light, materialized within the mirror’s depths. And huddled within that cage, her body curled into a protective ball, was Diana.

Her clothes were torn, her skin marred with countless cuts and scratches, the thorns digging into her flesh with a viciousness that made even Andohr wince. But she didn’t cry out. She didn’t beg for mercy. She lay there, motionless, her eyes closed, her breath shallow and ragged.

The sight of her, broken and defeated, filled Andohr with a perverse sense of satisfaction.

“Soon, Harriet,” he purred, his voice a low, menacing growl. “Soon, I will break you. And your screams… your screams will be a symphony of pain, a balm for my wounded pride.”

He chuckled, a low, chilling sound, and the image in the mirror faded, leaving only the cold, empty reflection of his own cruel smile.

Andohr had been keeping Diana imprisoned for what felt like an eternity to her. But Andohr, the God of Time, had ways of making even a second feel like decades. He’d been slowly, meticulously breaking her, chipping away at her spirit and her sanity. He’d twisted her perception of time, stretched her memories until they were raw and bleeding, forced her to relive her worst nightmares over and over again.

He’d made her hallucinate, conjuring images of her loved ones suffering, dying, their screams echoing in her ears even when she knew, deep down, that it wasn’t real. He’d forced her to relive the pain of her past, the loss of her husband, the agony of being separated from her children, amplifying those emotions until they threatened to consume her.

And the thorns… oh, the thorns.

They were a constant torment, a living cage that tightened its grip with every beat of her heart. He’d imbued them with a sliver of his own temporal power, twisting their perception of time, so that even the slightest graze felt like an eternity of agony.

Diana was strong. Stronger than he’d anticipated. Her will, forged in the fires of loss and hardship, was a stubborn thing, refusing to break completely.

But that only made Andohr more determined.

He’d break her. He’d make her scream, make her beg for mercy, make her regret the day she’d ever crossed him.

His anger, instead of fading, only intensified with each passing moment. He wanted more. He wanted to see her crumble, wanted to hear her spirit shatter, wanted to savor her despair. He wanted to make her pay, not just for defying him, but for birthing the monster that was now threatening to unravel his carefully crafted plans.

To be honest, Andohr didn’t harbor any personal animosity towards Diana. She was just… collateral damage. A pawn in a much larger game. If she’d been anyone else, he probably would have tossed her in a cell and forgotten about her.

But she was the God of Darkness’s mother.

And that made her a valuable tool. A weapon to be wielded, a pressure point to be exploited.

If the Dark Lord had a pet puppy, Andohr would have happily tortured that puppy too. It wasn’t about personal vengeance, not really. It was about power. Control. Sending a message.

And the message, in this case, was clear: You hurt me? I hurt yours.

He hadn’t forgotten the humiliation of being imprisoned within his own damn castle. Five thousand years. Five thousand years of staring at the same four walls, listening to the mocking whispers of his enemies, feeling his power dwindle with each passing day.

That kind of resentment, that kind of burning rage, didn’t just disappear. It festered. It grew. It twisted into something dark and vindictive.

And Diana, unfortunately for her, was the perfect outlet for Andohr’s pent-up fury.

As Andohr was lost in his sadistic musings, the doors to the throne room swung open again. This time, it was Seraphene, the Goddess of Information, and Salesi, who’d trailed behind her like a nervous shadow.

Seraphene, the first goddess to defect to Andohr’s side, was the epitome of calm and collected. Her dark eyes, sharp and intelligent, took in the scene before her—the shattered statue, the lingering crackle of temporal energy, the air thick with barely suppressed fury—and a knowing smile touched her lips.

She understood.

The God of Darkness had a way of getting under Andohr’s skin, of pushing his buttons, of unraveling his carefully crafted facade of control. It was almost… amusing.

It had started with that damn prison break, centuries ago. The ease with which the young Michael had escaped Andohr’s meticulously crafted cage, the sheer audacity of his defiance, had left a mark on Andohr’s pride. And it seemed that every encounter since then, every clash of power, every twist of fate, had only served to deepen Andohr’s resentment.

The God of Darkness, whether intentionally or not, seemed to do everything in his power to piss Andohr off.

And Seraphene? She was more than happy to watch the show unfold.

Andohr, his patience already worn thin, didn’t waste time on pleasantries.

“Report,” he snarled, his voice laced with barely suppressed fury. “How the hell did that bastard get the blood?”

Seraphene, unfazed by his outburst, simply raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?” she countered, her voice smooth as silk. “I seem to recall you boasting about how impenetrable your little vault was. How you’d personally woven temporal safeguards into its very fabric.”

“I did secure it! It’s impossible for anyone to—” Andohr’s jaw clenched. seaʀᴄh thё NôvelFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Clearly, it wasn’t impossible,” Seraphene interrupted, her tone laced with a hint of amusement.

Hearing her, it only pissed Andohr more.

“You’re the Goddess of Information, Seraphene. Don’t play coy with me.”

“Information, yes,” Seraphene retorted, her voice laced with a hint of steel. “Not omniscience. I can’t see everything, Andohr. And frankly,” she added, her gaze hardening, “we can stand here bickering about what’s already done, or we can start figuring out what to do next.”

Andohr, knowing she was right, took a deep breath, forcing himself to regain a semblance of control. He gestured towards the empty throne where Kranar had been sitting only moments before. “I was… about to make Kranar an offer. But that’s clearly not a priority anymore.”

“And what about Agra?” Seraphene asked, her dark eyes watching him intently. “I heard you wanted to bring him into this little… endeavor?”

“I did. And I still do,” Andohr nodded grimly.

Seraphene frowned. “Andohr, you know as well as I do that Agra is… unstable. Unpredictable. The self-proclaimed God of Chaos. Aligning ourselves with him… it’s not exactly a strategic masterpiece. He’s hated by the masses. Feared, even by most of the Pantheon. It’ll make us look—”

“Desperate?” Andohr finished for her, a wry smile twisting his lips. “Perhaps. But desperate times, my dear Seraphene, call for desperate measures.”

He leaned forward, his gaze intense.

“And besides, no one has to know we’re working with him. And to be honest, it’s not working with… it’s using.”

“Using him how?”

“Think about it, Seraphene. The God of Darkness. The God of Chaos. What could be more… fitting? We just need to… nudge them in the right direction. Pit them against each other. Let them destroy each other while we… observe. And reap the benefits.”

“And how exactly do you propose we… nudge them?” Seraphene asked, her skepticism evident in her voice. “And what ‘benefits’ are we talking about, precisely?”

“Simple,” Andohr purred, a cruel smile twisting his lips. “Agra’s… followers,” he spat the word as if it tasted foul, “are a chaotic bunch. Bandits, hooligans, cultists… they terrorize the realm in his name. Spreading fear. Sowing discord. They’re a thorn in every god’s side.”

He leaned forward, his gaze intense. “And the God of Darkness? Once he absorbs that blood, he’ll ascend. Become a Prime God. And you know what that means, don’t you?”

“Hmm,” Seraphene nodded. Prime Gods could connect with their worshippers on a deeper level, draw upon their faith, their devotion, their very life force. It was how they grew in power, how they ascended to the highest echelons of godhood.

“Imagine, Seraphene, if Agra’s… disciples were to… focus their efforts. Target the God of Darkness’s followers. Disrupt his flow of worship energy. Make his life… unpleasant.”

He chuckled, a low, chilling sound. “Agra doesn’t play by the rules, my dear. He plays dirty. And when the God of Darkness finds himself constantly harassed, his power base undermined, his followers living in fear… he’ll retaliate. It’s inevitable.”

“And then?”

“And then… we watch. We let them tear each other apart. While we… focus on other matters,” said Andohr.

“What other matters?”

“The Grimoire, Seraphene. Xyloth, Morbus and Fourcrux are making progress. Once those three fools figure out how to decipher its secrets… well, let’s just say we’ll have a more… permanent solution to the God of Darkness problem,” Andohr grinned.

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