NOVPUB
Chapter 298: 298
Nwadike’s eyes remained fixed on his father, absorbing the weight of his words. "What do we do, Father? The Apelings acted out of necessity, but they’ve drawn themselves into a deeper conflict. And Ikem... he won’t stand for much more bloodshed."
Osita shook his head slowly. "Ikem is wise, but even he cannot control the emotions of his people once they’ve been provoked. The Apelings have tasted violence, and though it is against their nature, they will be tempted to act again if pressed. And this is what Murmur wants."
A heavy silence fell over the room, the gravity of the situation weighing on them both. Osita knew that Murmur’s ultimate goal was not simply the downfall of Björn’s followers, but the erosion of Björn’s own stability. By fanning the flames of conflict, Murmur was pushing Björn toward a breaking point, feeding him raw faith energy at a rate that would drive any mortal to madness.
Osita’s gaze darkened. "We need to find the source of these rumors, Nwadike. If we can sever Murmur’s influence before it spreads further, we might slow the momentum of this war. But that will only buy us time."
The silence hung in the air again as Osita paced across the room, lost in thought. "We have to act before it’s too late," Osita finally said, his voice firm. "Reach out to Ikem. Warn him of what’s coming. We can’t allow this conflict to spiral out of control any further"
Nwadike nodded, understanding the urgency of the situation. "I will do as you say, Father"
As Nwadike stood to carry out his orders, Osita glanced once more at the red dot in the sky. He had long embraced the conflict within himself—the demon and the human—but now, he would need both sides working together to prevent the world from descending into chaos.
"Prepare yourself, Nwadike," Osita called out as his son left the room. "War is here, whether we want it or not".
AS for the Origin gods, they no longer could be bothered by the happenings of the mortal world. Jaws even has forgone his role on mending things in Ikenga’s absence, His whole attention like his other siblings, Mahu and Crepuscular was on the movement of their counterpart in the upside down.
The more things are spiraling out of control in the mortal world, the more the whispers from the upside down can be heard by the Origin gods.
The sacred language of the gods in the tongue of their counterpart has turned into something awful, disturbing and weird. From the slow expanding hole left by Ikenga and Keles presence, this twisted language is being constantly played in the ears of the gods.
For the origin gods, they could Ignore the effect of this language but for most mortals, the effect was something the origin gods were not looking forward too.
Last time when the gods counterparts were born, For a small amount of time, they were allowed to show true form, the damage from that was prevented by the gods who also showed their true form to mitigate the damage being done.
Nonetheless, the damage was done as many mortals who laid their eyes on the counterpart of the gods have been imprinted by them. When Ikenga and Keles were here, their world shield was strong and could keep the counterpart away from their world.
Now the shield has two holes in it, their world once again was exposed to their counterpart. Crepuscular knew the whispers from the hole weren’t meant for them but instead for those who had been imprinted.
Their counterpart is trying to get to them, to turn them into their agents. For now, Mahu, Jaws and Crepuscular are making sure that no whispers get by them and keep it on hold.
But the whole was expanding, their counterpart on the other side is doing everything to widen the hole. Each day, the divide between worlds grew thinner, and the gods knew they couldn’t hold it back forever.
The only way to stop this was by Keles and Ikenga coming back or they somehow find a way to stop their counterpart from expanding the hole.
Down in the mortal world. In the western continent. Mahlon woke with a start, his skin clammy and slick with sweat. The darkness of his room pressed in on him, suffocating, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure if he was awake or still trapped in the nightmare. His heart thundered in his chest, each beat rattling through his ribcage like a prisoner banging to escape.
He sat up, shivering, though the room was sweltering. He could feel it again. That presence. Lingering just out of reach, like the ghost of a dream clinging to the edges of his mind. His hands trembled as he pressed them to his temples, trying to silence the dull, rhythmic thrum that had become his constant companion.
"It’s nothing," he whispered to himself, voice shaking. "It’s nothing."
But he knew it wasn’t nothing. The whispers hadn’t fully reached him yet, but he could feel them circling him like hungry wolves at the edge of a dying fire. And it was getting worse.
The dreams were the first sign. They had started innocuously enough—fleeting images, vague shapes in the fog of sleep. But they had grown darker, more vivid, until he could no longer tell where the dream ended and the waking world began. Even now, with his eyes wide open, he could still see them. Their faces, twisted and melting, slipping between expressions too fast to comprehend.
He rubbed his eyes furiously, hoping to banish the hallucinations. When he opened them again, he nearly screamed.
In the corner of the room, barely visible in the dim light, a figure stood watching him. Its shape was wrong, all wrong. It was tall and thin, but where a head should have been, there was only a shifting mass of flesh, writhing as if trying to form a face but never quite managing it. Mahlon’s breath caught in his throat. He blinked. The figure was gone.
It’s in my mind. It’s not real. It’s not real.
But it felt real. It always felt real now.
Mahlon stumbled out of bed, his legs weak and shaking. He fumbled for the candle on his desk, lighting it with trembling hands. The flickering flame cast long, jagged shadows on the walls, making the room seem like it was warping, bending inward. He looked at his hands and saw that they were shaking uncontrollably. The tremor had started a few days ago, small at first, but now it was constant.
His magic—his once flawless, precise control—was slipping, as if the whispers gnawing at the edges of his sanity were slowly unraveling the thread that held him together.
He moved toward the mirror, drawn to it despite the gnawing fear in his gut. His reflection stared back at him, pale and gaunt, the dark circles under his eyes deepening every day. He barely recognized the man looking back.
Then, the reflection smiled.
Mahlon’s breath caught in his throat. His own face twisted into a grin—a wide, grotesque smile that stretched far too wide, teeth bared in a sick parody of joy. His reflection’s eyes bulged, the pupils shrinking to pinpricks, and the skin around its mouth began to crack and bleed, as though the flesh itself couldn’t contain the expression.
"No," Mahlon whispered, backing away, but the reflection kept smiling. It started to laugh, a high-pitched, broken sound, like glass grinding against metal. The sound filled his ears, echoing, bouncing off the walls of his skull until it became a cacophony of noise.
He turned away, gasping, but the laughter followed him. His room twisted and warped around him, the floor rising and falling as if the ground beneath him was buckling. He stumbled toward the door, clutching his head, but the whispers began again, low and guttural, just out of reach. He couldn’t understand the words, but they slithered across his mind like snakes, hissing and spitting venomous thoughts.
"It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real."
The words echoed in his head, a mantra he repeated over and over, but they were losing power. Deep down, Mahlon knew something was coming. Something real.
He reached for the door handle, desperate to escape the room, to get away from the oppressive, suffocating darkness. But when his fingers touched the metal, it turned to flesh. The door handle pulsed under his touch like a beating heart, soft and warm. He yanked his hand back, his stomach turning. The wood of the door rippled, veins running through it like a living creature.
"No," he gasped. "No, no, no."
His vision blurred, the walls of the room closing in, the air thickening like sludge. He couldn’t breathe. The whispers were louder now, not just from outside but from within, crawling through his brain like maggots feeding on his thoughts. His skull felt too tight, like his mind was expanding, swelling with the pressure of something trying to break through.
