Chronicles of The God Slayer of Shadows-Chapter 32 - Thirty Two

The temple ruins trembled, weakened by the death of its pseudo-boss. Adrian sat in the dust, cradling the Godslayer Crystal Fragment against his chest. Its dark, cool surface pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat.

[System Notice: Crystal Assimilation Locked until Lv 35]

Of course. Nothing came easy. Nyxaris limped toward him, panting heavily but alive. Despite the exhaustion pulling him under, Adrian smiled and extended a hand. The shadow beast pressed his head into Adrian's palm, warmth flowing between them.

Fenrik and Galvir trudged over, both worse for wear. Fenrik's fur was matted with blood, some his own, most not. "You alright, pup?" Fenrik growled, concern flashing in his eyes. Adrian nodded weakly. "Barely." Galvir tossed Adrian a glowing potion. "Drink. It'll taste like dung, but it'll keep ye breathing." Adrian forced it down, grimacing.

As the last echoes of battle faded, the group gathered their bearings. The Blood Moon Chalice had crumbled into dust—but before it vanished completely, a beam of red light shot skyward, visible even beyond the desert. Trouble was coming. "That light's gonna bring every scavenger, cultist, and monster sniffin' for god relics," Galvir said grimly. Fenrik's frown deepened. "We need to move. Fast."

Adrian pushed himself up, a new determination burning in his chest. He wasn't done yet. This was only the beginning.

The journey back out of the temple's ruins was brutal. Collapsed passages, roaming dungeon remnants, both rabid werewolves and bloodsuckers, and violent essence storms battered the group relentlessly. By the time they reached the desert night, Adrian felt like a broken puppet stitched together by stubborn willpower alone.

The stars above shimmered unnaturally, twisted by the surge of divine energy.

As they trekked toward Fenrik's hidden camp, Galvir filled the silence with grave news. "The clans are stirrin'. Word is, the vampires and wolves ain't just squabblin' anymore. They're callin' it the First Blood War." Adrian frowned. "Because of the Chalice?" "Aye. And because of ye, lad."

Fenrik grunted. "Both sides want god relics. Bloodlines are power. They'll kill anything between them and ascendancy." Adrian absorbed the weight of it. His mere existence—his choices—were triggering wars. He glanced at the fragment hidden inside his cloak.

Nyxaris padded beside him, silent, watchful. "You have enemies now, master," Nyxaris murmured in his mind. "Many who will never stop hunting you."

Adrian clenched his fists. "Let them come."