(Planet Ixtal, Common Soldier’s POV)
The wind that moved across the scorched plains of Ixtal carried the stench of old blood and burnt metal, mingling with the acrid smoke that still rose from the ruins of what had once been the heart of the once thriving Cult civilization.
The soil beneath the soldiers’ boots was a dark, cracked gray, one that refused to heal even after months of purification rites and mana cleansing.
"Disgusting place," one of the soldiers muttered, kicking at the dirt as if it personally offended him. "No matter how much holy water we dump here, it still reeks of corruption. Even the air feels wrong, like it’s soaked in blasphemy."
A chorus of low agreement followed, their voices tired yet scornful.
"Filthy bastards," another spat, his armor glinting faintly beneath the pale light. "I swear, evil’s in their blood. Whole generations born tainted. Even their corpses when we overturn the rubble look smug."
"Yeah," someone else added, adjusting the hilt of his sword. "We leveled their temples, burnt their libraries, and flattened every tower that had those damned Cult symbols carved on it, yet somehow this planet still feels like it’s watching us..... like it’s telling us that we don’t belong here. Makes my skin crawl."
The group chuckled grimly, though none of them dared to look toward the horizon where the ruins of the capital still smoldered.
"It’ll take centuries to remake this hellhole in the image of the Righteous Faction," said their squad captain, his tone laced with disdain. "We’ll have to rip out the very bones of this planet, cleanse it down to the core. Until then, it’ll remain cursed.
I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since I got here. And I most likely won’t, until I’m back at my home in Dereva."
A murmur of assent passed through the men until one of them, a younger recruit, spoke hesitantly. "Sir, there’s one thing I don’t understand."
"What?"
"The Lost Forest... and the Stone Castle of the Evil God Soron. They’re both still standing. The Command even fenced off the area, saying no one’s allowed near it.
I thought we were erasing every last trace of the Cult, so why leave that... thing untouched?"
The captain frowned, glancing toward the distant northern skyline where a faint, unnatural shimmer marked the forest’s border. "Orders from above," he said finally. "Apparently, the higher-ups think destroying Soron’s castle might destabilize the mana flow of the planet. Something about ancient roots, or divine seals. Whatever it is, it’s not our concern.
At our level, it’s best not to think about cosmic conspiracies too much.
Or you’ll never be able to follow orders faithfully."
"But sir—"
"Enough." The captain’s tone hardened.
"We’re soldiers, not scholars. If the Command wants it left alone, we leave it alone. Now shut it and keep your eyes open. This planet might be conquered, but it’s still dangerous.
Just yesterday night there were reports of surviving Cult insurgents taking down a squad!
Some of those damn rats are still surviving under the rubble, so we need to be alert."
He admonished, as the conversation died quickly after that, the men returning to their patrol route, their boots crunching over the brittle soil.
*Crunch*
*Crunch*
For a while things returned to normal, the sky above Ixtal its usual blue, until suddenly, the sound began.
*WOOOOOOOMMMM*
A single, deep vibration rolled across the plains, followed by the sharp wail of alarms echoing through every outpost.
"What the—?"
The soldiers froze as the sky above them flickered, its light blue color darkening in real time as it was mixed with an unnatural red.
"Air raid?" someone shouted, their voice drowned by the sudden roar of engines as Righteous jets scrambled from the nearby hangars, streaking across the clouds in tight formation.
The squad looked up, shielding their eyes against the glare, as dozens of Monarch-tier Commanders burst into the sky like streaks of light, their mana trails slicing through the atmosphere as they rose to meet whatever was coming.
Then, for a single heartbeat, everything went quiet.
The air thickened, the clouds convulsed, and light—pure and crimson—split the heavens apart.
*CRACK*
*BOOOOOOOM*
The pressure hit like a tidal wave, flattening the grass and forcing the soldiers to their knees, as their ears rang and their hearts trembled.
"What?"
"What is this insane pressure? What was that attack?"
They asked one another, barely lifting their heads, as the scene that unfolded before them, froze their blood cold.
The sky above was filled with falling bodies.
Twelve Monarchs, their auras burning out midair, their decapitated heads spiraling downward in crimson arcs as their headless corpses followed, vanishing into ash before they even struck the ground.
Blood rained in streaks of glowing red, dissolving before it could touch the soil.
"THE FUCK?... WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED?" a soldier screamed, his voice trembling.
Then, through the clouds, a shape began to descend, an ethereal figure cloaked in red, white, and gold, his presence radiating both divinity and terror.
Each step he took toward the ground left ripples in the air, bending the light around him.
The mere sight of him silenced the entire battlefield, as even the alarms seemed to fade beneath his suffocating pressure.
His eyes, cold and ancient, swept over the land that once belonged to him, his expression clearly displeased as he surveyed the destruction wrought on Ixtal with gritted teeth.
"T-t-thats S-s-soron," one of the soldiers stammered, his voice cracking as he stumbled backward, his legs giving way beneath him.
"Evil God Soron..." another repeated, almost breathless, as the realization struck like a hammer.
The Cult’s God had returned.
And as his shadow fell across the plains of Ixtal once more, the common soldiers felt something primal awaken within them, an emotion long buried beneath pride and faith.
It slithered through their veins like ice, hollowing courage into silence, as they realized in dawning horror that the land they thought conquered had merely been sleeping—awaiting its true master’s return.