The Guardian gods

Chapter 381: 381

On this particular day, nothing unusual seemed to be happening. The priests were gathered in worship before a statue of Vorenza, as they often did. They were accustomed to their goddess remaining silent. But today, Vorenza paid them heed.

In a brief, fleeting connection, Vorenza imparted a simple directive: the bustling city above. It was her desire.

The connection severed as abruptly as it began, leaving the priests in stunned disbelief. Their shock soon gave way to jubilation. For the first time, they had received a sign—an answer—from their goddess. Without delay, they rushed to inform the Chief.

The Chief was an anomaly within the current ratman society. A survivor of the mist’s corruptive influence, he had gained its so-called gifts. He had also consumed the flesh of the hybrids, enduring their corrupting effects. Yet, unlike most others, he had fought tooth and claw against the violent and unethical impulses the corruption provoked within him.

This inner struggle set him apart, earning him a rare mixture of respect and fear from the council. His resilience in resisting the overwhelming temptations that others had long succumbed to was enough to solidify his position as leader.

Inside his office, the rhythmic thuds of fists against a hardened surface echoed through the air—a sound like a relentless drumbeat. It was his way of channeling his rage and suppressing the impulses threatening to consume him.

The door to his office burst open, and a group of priests clattered into the room, their mechanical legs clicking against the floor. Steam rose from the Chief’s heated body as he glared at them, his imposing presence enough to make the intruders hesitate.

The leading priest recoiled slightly, but the clinking of his spider legs steadied him as he gathered his resolve.

"We have received a word from the goddess," the priest said, his voice trembling with excitement.

The Chief’s skeptical gaze hardened further. He knew all too well of the priests’ fervent relationship with their so-called goddess. He had little trust in their proclamations, often suspecting them of twisting their own desires into divine mandates.

"Out with it," the Chief growled, his voice low and dangerous. "What twisted purpose have you priests concocted this time, disguising it as the goddess’s word?"

The priest, undeterred by the Chief’s skepticism, raised his voice with fervor. "She has spoken! She has revealed the path to a new era—a world where we, the downtrodden and scorned, will rise and claim our rightful place!"

The Chief’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. He knew all too well the dangerous allure of divine promises. He had seen how belief in such mandates could consume individuals, reducing them to little more than mindless zealots.

"And what is this divine purpose, pray tell?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The priest, either oblivious to or ignoring the mockery, pressed on. "She has shown us the city above—a land of abundance, power, and opportunity. A world that is ours for the taking!"

The hiss of steam from the mechanical gauntlet on the Chief’s arm filled the air as he stepped closer to the priest. The priest, lost in his thoughts of conquest, barely registered the looming figure until it was too late.

With a swift motion, the Chief leaped forward, his hand clamping around the priest’s throat and yanking him down to his level. The Chief’s bloodshot eyes bore into the priest’s, his voice a low growl filled with restrained fury.

"Have you forgotten the hybrids breathing down our necks in these tunnels?" he snarled. "Have you forgotten your so-called goddess’s connection to those creatures? Or the empire above, with its goblin mages and ogre warriors?"

He tightened his grip slightly, his voice rising. "Are you so far gone that you can’t comprehend any of this? That you can’t see we’re nothing but pawns in someone else’s twisted game?"

The priest gasped for air, his wide eyes brimming with terror as he struggled against the Chief’s iron grip. "We... we must follow her, Chief. She is our salvation!"

The Chief abruptly released him, letting the priest collapse to the ground in a heap. He stepped back, his breathing heavy and uneven as he tried to regain control over his anger.

"Salvation?" he spat. "From what? From ourselves? From the hybrids? From the empire above?"

He began pacing, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. "You think a few ratmen, no matter how devout, can conquer a city full of soldiers and magic? You think we stand a chance against the might of the empire?"

Sensing a flicker of doubt in the Chief’s tone, the priest scrambled to his feet, emboldened. "We have the blessing of the goddess, Chief. She will guide us to victory!"

The Chief turned to face him, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "The blessing of a goddess who has done nothing but watch us suffer? A goddess who has allowed us to be preyed upon by hybrids and goblins alike?"

His voice dropped, filled with scorn and fatigue. "Tell me, priest—how do you expect to win a war with nothing but faith and the broken bodies of your followers?"

The Chief turned to the priest, his piercing gaze burning with unyielding intensity. "We will not be pawns in someone else’s game. We will forge our own destiny—one not dictated by some unseen force."

The priest faltered under the weight of the Chief’s words, his fervor momentarily silenced. But as the Chief’s resolve solidified, a flicker of something dangerous flashed in the priest’s eyes—a glint of defiance, quickly concealed.

Behind his silence, the priest’s thoughts churned. The Chief was an obstacle, a threat to their sacred mission and their devotion to the goddess. Something must be done about him, the priest thought, the seed of a dark resolve taking root. He cannot be allowed to stand in the way of her will.

The priest masked his anger with a deferential nod, bowing to the Chief before retreating. The other priests who had accompanied him cast cold, resentful glares at the Chief as they followed suit, their mechanical legs clicking rhythmically against the floor.

Once the door shut behind them, the Chief slammed it shut with force. His heavy breathing filled the room as he leaned his head against the door, only to slowly sink to the ground. A low groan escaped him, his expression twisting with a mix of pain and strange, twisted pleasure.

The impulses had returned. The fiery anger he had felt moments ago seemed to stoke the cravings lurking within him, sending waves of euphoric sensations through his body. Drenched in sweat, the Chief sat there until the storm of emotions subsided.

As clarity returned, his thoughts turned to the priests’ ominous words. If the goddess truly spoke to those mad zealots, then we are all in greater danger than ever before. His stomach churned—not from hunger but from unease. He realized that their influence could threaten his authority. If the priests convinced the other ratmen of their divine message, his position and even his life could be at risk.

Pushing himself to his feet, the Chief moved to his desk, where a bowl of hybrid meat soup awaited him. He stared into the swirling broth, the faint scent of the corrupted flesh turning his thoughts darker. With a resigned sigh, he scooped a handful and began to eat. For now, he decided, he would wait. He needed to observe the priests’ next moves carefully.

Meanwhile, in the dimly lit corridors outside, the priests huddled together, their whispered words tinged with venom.

"He’s a fool," one hissed, his mechanical limbs clinking as he shifted in agitation. "Blind to the truth."

The first priest nodded, his eyes glinting with a fanatical fervor. "He will learn," he replied, his voice low and menacing. "Or he will be removed."

The group paused in the corridor, the flickering lights casting jagged shadows across their altered forms. The first priest leaned in, his voice a hushed but fervent command. "We must hasten our plans. We must rally the people and show them the true path. The Chief cannot be allowed to stand in the way."

The other priest nodded solemnly, his expression lined with concern. "But how? The Chief is not just a figurehead. He commands both respect and fear. The people won’t turn against him easily."

The first priest’s lips curled into a cold, unsettling smile that made his companion shiver. "We have a weapon—a divine weapon," he said, his voice dripping with conviction.

"The goddess."

He let the word hang in the air, the weight of it sinking in. "We will wield her name as our blade. We’ll turn her voice into our rallying cry, paint the Chief as a heretic and a traitor. The people will follow us, not him."

One of the priests, who had been silent until now, shook his head. Unlike the others, he carried no staff. Instead, he held a carved book emblazoned with the intricate symbol of a spider.