Faced with this question, Cillian drew in a slow breath, though the sound faded quickly into the silence of the abyss. A moment later he shook his head, dismissing the thought.

"Impossible," he murmured to himself. "At best, it's coincidence. Moira…"

His mind wandered briefly through the fragments of memory he had glimpsed before. Nowhere had he seen anything that tied Moira's work to the idealistic planes. Her focus had been on the mind and the divine fire, not these unstable worlds of fog and distortion.

He let the memory go.

"Whatever the truth may be, now isn't the time to chase it. My task is clear: perfect the Endless Abyss."

He closed his eyes, steadying himself. "I can't afford distractions. Not when I've yet to reach the strength needed to enter the Chaos Dead Sea."

The vast realm remained barred to him until he grew stronger, and so, for now, his studies of the idealistic planes would have to wait. Still, he could not leave them unchecked.

Though he abandoned direct research, Cillian moved swiftly to contain their spread. With his divine fire he severed the connections between those planes and the greater abyss, cutting them off and isolating their twisted domains. Whether or not they could grow into something with combat power, he could not allow them to drain his already scarce resources.

His demons needed constant cultivation, endless sustenance, to grow into the army he envisioned. Yet the abyss itself was harsh and barren, demanding careful allocation of every spark of strength.

With his mind made firm again, Cillian rose from the resting chamber and returned to the secret realm.

He drifted into the void, surrounded by countless suspended worlds. Each one was a pocket of creation, born in forgotten ages, carrying its own rules and species. The secret realm felt like a vast menagerie, a zoo of realities drifting side by side.

But as he stepped deeper, his gaze hardened. Something was wrong.

Here, in the section of the void known as the Realm of Mist, the number of secret worlds had dwindled sharply.

Cillian's frown deepened. He had left fragments of divine fire across this space as markers to guide his path and record the worlds. Now, one by one, they had all gone out.

Every single one.

Divine fire that should have burned for centuries had been erased without a trace.

He felt his chest tighten. "What's happening here?" His voice dropped to a low murmur as he moved cautiously forward. "Has something consumed them?"

Even as unease grew in him, his hands worked quickly, carving new signs, layering wards, and marking paths with fresh fire.

He reminded himself of the natural order here. The further one went into the void, the stronger the secret worlds became. The outer rim of the secret realm held minor worlds, fragile things, equal in strength to what a Grimstone University graduate could shape. But deeper within lay worlds that rivaled the divine domains of lesser gods, complete with war-forged civilizations and perfectly balanced rules.

Deeper still were secret worlds so vast, so powerful, that even mid-level gods struggled to pierce their crystal walls. And at the very heart of the secret realm… there were whispers of a true god, waiting in the depths. Yet no such presence had ever been proven.

Cillian studied his surroundings for what felt like hours, waiting for the anomaly to reveal itself. But the Realm of Mist remained still. Nothing stirred but the drifting glow of distant worlds.

At last he eased his guard. If something had devoured his fire, it had left no tracks. Best not to waste more time.

He extended a hand and selected one of the worlds before him. Its crystal walls shimmered with colors like a balloon glowing with layered light. He sank cross-legged in the void, letting the Endless Abyss steady him as he reached into the crystal wall's rules.

This was the craft every god and abyssal sovereign needed: the ability to study and weaken the barriers of other realms. With careful analysis, he didn't need to shatter a world entirely. It was enough to crack a portion, enough to open the way and let the abyss and the secret world grind together in war.

Behind him, the Endless Abyss stirred, its dark tides waiting to surge forward. Before him, the radiant secret world pulsed like a jewel. Slowly, a black mark spread across its surface, the first wound where his abyss pressed through.

He opened his eyes. "Begin the invasion."

The skies of the secret world darkened. Far above, in the outermost layer of its plane, a black and red vortex spun into being. From its depths, two eyes blinked open.

Across the realm below, the faithful stirred.

On a stone pyramid deep in a jungle, an old priest awoke with a start. His robes gleamed with ceremonial dyes, his skin etched with age. Around him stood his followers, younger priests waiting in silence.

The elder's body trembled. His eyes widened as he spoke. "The oracle has arrived."

At once, the others pressed in, anxious.

"High Priest, what revelation does the god grant us?"

"What is it you see?"

His lips were pale, his voice quivering. "War."

Murmurs rippled through the chamber.

"Is it the outer demons, as foretold before?"

"But we've faced them before. We have driven them off."

"Each time they return, many cities fall…"

Their words faltered when they saw the terror on the elder's face. He raised his hand, pointing toward the heavens.

Above the canopy, above the clouds, a black dot had appeared in the sky, small yet heavy as fate. But even as the priests turned to look, the old man shuddered and turned in the other direction.

There, at the opposite end of the heavens, another light was forming.

Two stars of ruin, as two omens of destruction.

⸻

Above the sky, in the farthest reaches of the plane, the black-and-red vortex began to twist open.

It did not yet mean that the Endless Abyss itself had crossed over. In truth, the Abyss still lay a great distance away, separated by layers of crystal wall and space. But distance mattered little. Even before the Abyss arrived in full, its influence bled forward, leaking into this world like poison seeping through cracks in stone.

It began quietly, almost unnoticed.

Deep within a lush green jungle, thick with the scent of damp soil and leaves, a black stain appeared on the ground. It spread slowly, foul and unnatural, stinking of rot. Against the vivid green around it, the stain was like a cancer, a malignant tumor that refused to be hidden.

The air changed, and an indescribable, rancid smell wafted from the stain, carried on the breeze until it tainted the whole jungle.

The first to suffer were the weakest the small creatures, sharp of sense but fragile of will.

"Squeak! Squeak!"

The moment the odor reached them, their behavior twisted. Once-docile beasts shrieked and snapped at one another with crazed fury. Two dog-headed rodents, usually timid grazers, turned red-eyed and lunged, fangs bared not for food but for slaughter. They tore at each other in madness, their squeals echoing through the trees.

And they were not alone.

Predators, prey, every living thing caught the sickness. Beasts that once stalked with hunger now killed for the joy of it. Prey that had always fled now hurled themselves into battle, driven by some violent urge that had nothing to do with survival.

Even the plants were not spared. Roots writhed beneath the soil, slithering toward the blood spilled upon the ground. Flowers unfurled with grotesque speed, their petals slick with crimson. Some plants pierced corpses with barbed roots, drinking deep of still-warm flesh.

The jungle itself had become a battlefield of madness.

Far away, Cillian sat at the base of the Endless Abyss, his mind focused on the crystal wall of this world. His divine fire traced patterns, pulling at its rules, prying them apart piece by piece.

"The invasion has begun…" he murmured. His eyes stayed closed, but his awareness stretched across the veil, watching the stain of the Abyss seep into this plane.

He read the world in fragments. "A fairly powerful domain. A single planet, not yet a true star system…" The knowledge came easily. Though he could not comprehend all its rules outright, he could reverse-engineer enough to see its structure.

"Interesting. Several mythical-class beings…."

Cillian noted this carefully. True mythical creatures could only be born in the divine realms of greater gods, but imitations existed. In many secret worlds, powerful beasts learned to draw directly from unclaimed rules, weaving them into their own strength. They were not gods, not even true myths, but still dangerous. Dangerous enough to be worshipped by lesser races.

While his analysis continued, the world began to resist. Its counterattack was swifter than expected.

——————x——————

In the jungle below, a little devil crouched among corpses, its chains rattling faintly. Shackled though it was, it grinned, sharp teeth glistening as it tore into the soft flesh of fallen creatures.

It chewed happily, its voice thick with satisfaction. The flesh of this ordered world was tender, free of poison or corruption, almost sweet. It was like eating candy.

The devil tore and gulped, blood smeared across its chin. But then, a sound stirred the undergrowth.

Slowly it lifted its head, ears twitching.

A sharp whistle split the air.

An arrow, carved from strange wood and etched with runes, punched clean through its skull. The devil's eyes widened for a heartbeat before the force of the strike nailed it against the trunk of a tree, one already warped with fleshy growths from the spreading stain.

"Damn monster!"

The words came from a man stepping out of the foliage. His skin was marked with tribal paint, his clothes woven from linen patterned with strange sigils. He carried a bow as behind him, more emerged, warriors with scimitars, hunters with longbows, and priests clutching skulls that pulsed with eerie light.

They looked upon the pinned devil with disgust.

"I didn't think the invaders would be so foul," one muttered.

"Yes. The specimens in the great tent were hideous, but this one is worse."

The leader said nothing at first. He moved forward with caution, gaze fixed on the corpse. A whisper came to ears and the longer he stared at the devil's body, the stronger it grew, a whisper urging him to turn away, to fall.

He tore his eyes from it, forcing his will to remain steady. Then he grasped the shaft of his arrow and yanked it free. The devil's head sagged, its body slumping to the dirt.

At once, the flesh dissolved into a puddle of black sludge, steaming with the stench of decay. The warriors gagged, covering their mouths.

But one thing remained.

The chain around the devil's neck.

It clattered against the ground as the body collapsed, yet it did not vanish with the rest. Instead, it jerked, pulled by some unseen force.

The leader's heart leapt. "No!"

The chain snapped backward into the dark undergrowth, as though yanked by a giant hand.

From the shadows, pairs of scarlet eyes blinked open one by one.

Dozens, then hundreds.

All from the same direction the chain had disappeared into.

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