Godstealer-Chapter 32: The Vote of Power

The blood-soaked arena hummed with a charged energy, the aftertaste of Dante's brutal victory still lingering in the air. He stood tall, chest heaving from exhaustion, his body battered and bruised from the vicious clash with his final opponent. The crowd of gods cheered, though their voices seemed distant, like the sound of thunder on the horizon.

But beneath the surface, Dante felt a deeper tension. His ribs ached with each breath, and his mind was clouded with the question that had plagued him since the moment he'd emerged victorious.

Before he could ask himself that question again, something unnatural happened — a shift in the very fabric of reality that only the gods could sense. The heavens themselves seemed to quiver, and the air grew heavier, thick with an eerie stillness.

Dante's heart skipped a beat as he glanced up, his senses straining, but nothing prepared him for what he saw next.

At the center of the arena, before the divine council and the gathered gods, a shadow shifted into form. Veylan stood there — a towering figure, his presence commanding the space around him. He was a god of death, a being whose existence was woven into the very essence of mortality itself. But only the gods could see him. To the mortals in the stands, it was as if Veylan had never appeared at all.

Dante's breath caught in his throat, eyes wide, but he could do nothing but stare. Veylan's cold, molten gaze settled on him, and for a moment, everything else seemed to vanish. The gods murmured among themselves, but Dante heard nothing but the relentless thrum of his own heartbeat.

Veylan's voice, smooth and powerful, rang out across the arena, though it was not directed to the gods.

"Dante."

Dante froze, but he could not move. His legs felt like they were made of stone, his thoughts a whirlpool of confusion.

The god of death stepped closer, his every movement eerily silent. His figure was both imposing and graceful, his eyes like twin black voids that seemed to pull at the very core of existence.

"You are not supposed to die yet," Veylan continued, his voice like the sound of a death knell. "Your fate has not yet come. But the curse that lingers on you... It must be removed. I will not allow it to claim you now."

With a motion that was almost too fast to follow, Veylan raised his hand, and an invisible force surged through the air. The curse that had threatened to claim Dante, the one that had been slowly eroding him from within, flickered and vanished. It was as if a string of death that had been tied around Dante's soul had been severed in an instant, its pull now nullified.

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Dante's breath caught in his throat as he felt the weight of the curse lift off his chest, the pressure that had been suffocating him suddenly vanishing. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, his body felt light. Free.

But even as the curse lifted, Veylan's next words echoed in his mind, deep and foreboding.

"There is always a price when death is defied, Dante. A string of death given will always be taken. Do not forget this." His voice softened, almost as if he were speaking not to Dante, but to the universe itself.

Dante's confusion deepened. A string of death? What did that even mean?

Before he could gather his thoughts, Veylan turned away. His form shimmered for a moment, and just as suddenly as he had appeared, he was gone — leaving behind only the subtle scent of decay and an oppressive silence.

The gods, who had been watching in stunned awe, slowly turned their attention back to the proceedings. Their faces were unreadable, but the unease in their eyes was palpable. Dante, still recovering from the shock of Veylan's intervention, tried to steady himself. His mind was racing, but there was no time to dwell on the cryptic words of the God of Death. The game was not yet over.

The Vote

It was then that the goddess stood up in the stands — her presence commanding and undeniable. She was tall and elegant, her features soft yet sharp, like a blade hidden beneath velvet. She surveyed the arena with cool detachment, before her gaze settled on Dante. There was a spark of something in her eyes — interest, perhaps, or maybe respect.

"I like a strong man with his priorities straight," she said, her voice clear and powerful, ringing out over the gods. "I vote to end the Hybrid Kill Law."

Dante, though still processing Veylan's intervention, allowed a smile to tug at his lips. This was the moment. The law could end. The thought felt liberating, but a flicker of doubt still gnawed at him. The curse had been removed, but for how long? And what had Veylan truly meant by his words?

The goddess continued, her voice unwavering. "I lost an uncle and four brothers to such a foolish law. I cannot stand by and let it continue."

Her words stirred something in the gods. Two others joined her vote: Zerathis, still bound to Zephiron's body, and a god whose name Dante didn't recognize but whose presence felt equally significant.

The vote had begun. It was supposed to be a formality, but Dante could feel the weight of it bearing down on him.

The tension thickened in the arena as the gods shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

And then it came down to Idris — the God of War.

Dante's heart pounded in his chest as he moved closer, despite the pain in his ribs. His thoughts were still muddled, but the moment felt too important to ignore.

"No one said anything about a vote," he growled, his voice hoarse but filled with resolve. "It was said I could change the law. It explicitly said that."

The goddess who had voted for him spoke again, her voice tinged with an almost sorrowful regret. "It changes when Utah, the God of Laws, isn't present. He hasn't shown up at all."

A chill ran down Dante's spine. The Sound God's voice cut through his mind: "That's not normal. Utah always makes the final decision."

Suddenly, Dante's vision warped, his mind snapping into focus as a strange image flickered before his eyes. It was a soundclip, distorted but clear: Utah lying dead on the floor, a crimson stain spreading across the stone.

The culprit was clear — Idris.

Dante's stomach churned. "You bloody bastard..." he muttered, his fists clenched. "Why don't you tell them what you did?"

Idris grinned, his eyes cold with malice. "Eliminating a minor god doesn't mean anything. I reign supreme here. I do whatever I want. I kill whoever I want. This is the way of war."

A collective gasp rose from the gods.

The truth had been exposed.

Dante's voice shook with fury, but before he could speak further, the world shifted around him.

A blinding light flared. Dante gasped as his body was torn from the arena in an instant. The Trickster's voice echoed in his mind, angry and frantic, "That was our chance!"

But before Dante could make sense of it, a warm, unfamiliar presence pressed against him. He blinked in confusion, the world still spinning, only to realize the girl he had saved — the one who had been by his side — had leapt onto him.

Her eyes had changed. Black. Horns. The air around them twisted, as she whispered, her voice cold:

"Did Father help you?"