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Chapter 294: 294
In the eastern continent, the most powerful kingdom had thrown its full support behind the religion of Björn. This belief system, once a fringe cult, was spreading like wildfire. Its teachings offered power to the powerless, and the cost? Blood. The ritualistic murder of others, in the name of Björn, granted individuals strength without the need for talent or hard work. For a kingdom/ Individual hungry for power and dominance, this was a tempting offer.
Reports of ritualistic killings were becoming commonplace, whispered in the streets like gossip. People murdered in their own homes, their bodies desecrated in sacrificial rites to gain power. And the more the religion of Björn spread, the more humanity’s fear of the children of the gods began to fade. Björn’s followers believed they could challenge the demigods themselves.
Only a week ago, Ikem received news of missing apelings who had ventured out on an expedition. Their bodies were soon discovered—used in a brutal ritual. The discovery ignited a wave of unease, but something more sinister was brewing beneath the surface. Rumors began to spread: the children of the gods, with their divine blood, made even more powerful sacrifices. It was said, though unproven, that the blessings of Björn were doubled when a demigod was offered in ritual.
This rumor, however unsubstantiated, was enough to fan the flames of fanaticism. Humans, convinced of its truth, now had their sights set on the children of the gods. Ikem, sensing the growing danger, sent word to his people scattered among human societies. He warned them of the rising threat and gave them a choice: return to the safety of the mountain or stay and face the danger on their own terms, Whichever option they choose he made sure to make it clear that he will always stand by them.
To Ikem’s surprise, not a single apeling chose to return. Instead, they were insulted—angered even—by the very suggestion that they should flee. While the apelings were known for their kindness toward humans, they harbored a deep, underlying pride in their divine lineage. Their bloodline, connected to the gods themselves, was not to be disrespected.
Under normal circumstances, this pride was kept in check, hidden beneath their civilized exterior. But the news that humans were hunting them, using them as objects to increase their own power, ignited a fury within them. Many apelings spoke of razing entire cities to the ground in retaliation.
However, Ikem’s warning tempered their rage. He reminded them that not all humans were followers of Björn, and there were still many who opposed the barbaric rituals. Acting in blind anger would only sow more chaos. If they were to strike, they needed to know who their true enemies were.
This decision, though measured, became the nightmare of Björn’s followers. The apelings, well-educated and strategic in their approach, began to operate under the cover of darkness. They infiltrated human society, silently seeking out Björn’s believers, one by one.
Night after night, the apelings moved like shadows. Their intelligence and methodical nature made them nearly undetectable. Each night, another follower of Björn disappeared, their presence erased without a trace. And the humans began to fear once more—not the gods themselves, but the quiet, calculating vengeance of the demigods’ children.
For the followers of Björn, it was no longer a matter of gaining power. It was a matter of survival.
The moon hung low in the sky, casting a dim light over the quiet town. The streets, once bustling with life, were eerily silent now. For weeks, rumors had spread like wildfire—followers of Björn disappearing without a trace. Some spoke of divine retribution, others of vengeful spirits, but none dared utter the truth out loud: the children of the gods had come to exact their vengeance.
A small group of Björn’s followers huddled together inside a decrepit stone building on the outskirts of the town. They whispered to one another, their voices shaky, eyes darting toward every shadow. The air was thick with tension, the weight of their fear palpable.
One of them, a tall man with ritual scars etched into his skin, stood and slammed his fist onto the table. "Enough of this cowardice! We are the chosen of Björn. We have tasted his power! The gods’ spawn are no match for us—"
A sharp, bone-cracking noise interrupted him mid-sentence. His eyes went wide, the force of his voice faltering as he looked down. A jagged, wooden spear protruded from his chest, slick with blood. Before he could gasp for air, the spear was yanked backward, pulling him off balance and sending him crashing to the floor. Blood pooled around him as his life slipped away.
The room erupted into chaos, the remaining followers scrambling to draw their weapons. But it was already too late. The apelings moved with deadly precision, their forms barely visible in the flickering candlelight. Their attack was swift, calculated—merciless.
One of the Björn followers, a woman with a ceremonial dagger clutched tightly in her hand, lunged at a shadow. Her blade swung through the air but hit nothing. She barely had time to react before a heavy blow landed on her back, sending her sprawling onto the ground. She struggled to rise, but a booted foot slammed down on her spine, pinning her to the floor.
A low growl rumbled above her, and as she craned her neck to look up, she saw the apeling towering over her, his amber eyes glinting with rage. Without hesitation, he grabbed her by the head, his large hands closing around her skull. With a sickening crack, he twisted, her neck snapping like dry wood. Her body went limp instantly, and he tossed her aside like a rag doll.
The sound of flesh being torn apart echoed through the room as the apelings descended upon the remaining followers. One by one, they were hunted down with terrifying efficiency.
An older man, his body already weakened from prior rituals, tried to crawl away, dragging himself across the blood-soaked floor. His breath came in ragged gasps, desperation overtaking him. But the apelings were relentless. One of them leapt from the shadows, landing atop him. He tried to scream, but a rough hand clamped over his mouth, silencing him. With a single, swift motion, the apeling raised a jagged stone knife and plunged it into his back, again and again, each stab precise, each one meant to inflict maximum pain. 𝔫𝖔𝔳𝖕𝖚𝔟.𝔠𝔬𝖒
The man’s muffled screams slowly faded into gurgles as blood bubbled from his throat. His limbs twitched once, then fell still.
Another follower, a wiry woman with wild eyes, fought back with everything she had. Her blade flashed through the air, narrowly missing her attacker. She was quick, but the apelings were quicker. One of them darted behind her, sweeping her legs out from under her. She fell hard, her head smacking the stone floor with a dull thud. Dazed, she tried to push herself up, but an apeling was already upon her.
With a snarl, he grabbed her arm and yanked it backward. There was a wet snap as her shoulder dislocated, followed by a scream of agony that filled the room. The apeling didn’t stop there. With a twisted grin, he pulled harder, tearing her arm completely free from her body. Blood sprayed across the walls as the woman convulsed, her eyes wide with horror and disbelief. Her scream became a weak gurgle as blood filled her throat, and she collapsed into a lifeless heap.
Outside, the remaining followers who had been standing guard heard the screams and rushed into the building. But the moment they stepped through the door, they were met with a scene of carnage. Bodies lay strewn across the floor, twisted in unnatural angles, blood soaking into the stone.
The apelings, their eyes glowing with predatory fury, turned toward the newcomers with deadly intent. The guards barely had time to react before the apelings were upon them. The first to fall was a hulking man wielding a battle axe. An apeling darted behind him, slashing his Achilles’ tendon with a razor-sharp claw. The man stumbled forward, howling in pain, but his cry was cut short as another apeling drove a spear through his throat. Blood spurted from the wound as he collapsed, choking on his own fluids.
The others tried to retreat, but the apelings gave them no quarter. One man, a scrawny acolyte, made it to the doorway before an apeling hurled a weighted net over him. He struggled, but the more he thrashed, the tighter the net became. Within seconds, he was immobilized. An apeling approached him slowly, savoring the terror in his eyes. Without a word, the apeling unsheathed a curved blade and, with brutal efficiency, slit the man’s throat. The acolyte’s eyes went wide as he gurgled his last breath, his body collapsing in a heap.
When the last of the followers lay dead, the apelings stood in the aftermath of their slaughter, their bodies spattered with blood, their breaths steady and calm. This was not an act of senseless rage—this was a message. The gods’ children had sent their warning.
