Shadow Menace: I Live Among Mortals, I Kill Among Gods

"You think the walls will save you? I've broken more sacred things than your gods ever dared to build." — Kaito

The air was thick. Like something rotting inside a cathedral.

We crossed the threshold of the Obsidian Crown's inner sanctum, and the doors slammed shut behind us with a sound like the last breath of a dying god.

Everything was black. Not just dark. Black.

The walls weren't stone—they were something older, something alive. Veins of cursed silver ran like arteries along the ceiling, pulsing dimly with violet light. Every step echoed like a funeral bell. The floor wasn't flat—it dipped and rippled beneath our boots, as if trying to reject our presence.

The statues along the walls were the worst part.

Twisted, frozen gods.

Their faces screaming. Arms outstretched in agony. Some looked like they were mid-prayer. Others mid-begging.

None were whole.

They died begging for mercy. And the sanctum gave none.

Even my shadow was shaking.

We didn't get far before it began.

First—the silent sigil mines. Invisible until stepped on. One of the scouts exploded—just disintegrated, screaming until his lungs evaporated.

Then the wall-eyes opened—grotesque organic irises blinking from the stone. Anyone who met their gaze froze. Trapped in illusion. One of the mages started stabbing himself. He thought he was on fire.

Eve and I carried him forward.

He never stopped screaming.

A corridor lined with mirrors followed.

But these weren't reflections. These were truths. I saw myself—bloody, monstrous, with Lysaria's body in my arms.

She was dead in every mirror.

I punched through them all, breathing hard.

Then came the Echo Runes. Pure psychological torture.

Jun—the youngest of the twins—triggered one.

He froze mid-step.

Didn't scream. Didn't speak.

Just looked at me. Eyes hollow.

"I'm not here anymore," he whispered.

And then he stopped speaking entirely.

His brother dragged him the rest of the way, tears streaking down his face.

This place doesn't just test our strength. It breaks it. It peels away pride like skin, strips you to your soul, and asks: "Do you still believe in what you're fighting for?"

I don't know if I do. But I know one thing—

I'll never stop moving forward.

The corridor spat us into a massive, circular room—a chamber of thrones.

Thirty-seven, maybe forty.

Each throne was carved from different material: bone, obsidian, crystal, iron, ashwood. All cracked. All corrupted.

And in every seat?

A god.

Or what used to be.

Some were skeletal husks. Others were alive—but not really. Still breathing. Still aware.

Their eyes followed us, glowing faintly.

None spoke. Not until I reached the center.

Then one stood.

He was faceless. Hollow. His voice like a whisper under your skin.

"You bear the brand of divine rebellion… yet seek passage?"

I stared back.

"You watched this kingdom rot and called it faith."

His bones creaked as he pointed at me.

"Even the most righteous burn, mortal."

"Then pour the oil."

He sat back down.

The rest watched.

No one stopped us.

They say no one survives this hall.

I see why.

The moment we stepped into the stone causeway, a thousand seals ignited around us—glyphs hanging mid-air, crackling with blood-red light.

Arch-sorcerers appeared on platforms overhead, flanked by divine knights cloaked in cursed robes.

"INTRUDERS IN THE INNER FAITH!"

Blades flew.

Fire roared.

Kagetsura came alive in my hands.

And then I started cutting.

I blinked forward and sliced two knights in half before they landed. My blades screamed through their enchanted armor. Another dove at me from above—I spin-cut his knees out and slit his throat before he hit the ground.

"Kill the God Slayer!" someone screamed.

I grinned.

"Get in line."

The corridor became a storm of death.

I blinked into one group of sorcerers—slammed one through a rune wall, grabbed another by the neck and broke his spine with a single twist.

Blood soaked my sleeves.

My aura raged black and red—twisting like a cloak around my body.

Spears shattered against my sigil. Light arrows bounced off my back.

I ducked low, ran a blade across a knight's ankles, spun and beheaded the one behind me.

Every step was murder.

Every breath: war.

I was covered in gore. But it wasn't enough.

I wanted more.

The heat hit first.

A pressure. Like standing inside a forge with lungs full of coal dust.

Then he dropped from the ceiling like a meteor.

The ground split beneath his feet.

He was nine feet tall, wrapped in living fire, bones showing through cracks in his molten armor. His mask was sculpted from blackened skull fragments, stitched with emberthread. His hammer was carved from dragonbone and constantly aflame.

The Flame Warden of Vermund.

"You've reached your final breath," he said, his voice like magma grinding stone.

"I've got enough breath left to spit on your ashes," I replied.

He came at me like a burning avalanche.

I met his hammer with Kagetsura. The clash sent shockwaves through my bones. I staggered back, ribs aching.

He didn't wait. Fire poured from his hammer as he swung again—wide arc. I blinked behind him, slashed his back.

He barely flinched.

He turned, caught my arm mid-blink, and slammed me through a column.

I coughed blood.

"You're not divine," he said. "Just loud."

"Yeah?" I wiped my lip. "Your mom said the same."

He roared, charged again.

I blinked just in time, cut across his midsection—finally pierced the armor.

He bled flame.

He caught me again, hurled me into the ceiling. My shoulder dislocated. I screamed, slammed into the ground.

My vision swam.

Get up. Get. UP.

I forced myself up.

Reattached the shoulder with a grunt.

Charged again.

This time—I used everything.

I blinked, feinted, twisted mid-air, and slashed both legs. Then stabbed Kagetsura into his chest.

He grabbed me.

Pulled me close.

"I burn… with purpose…"

Then exploded.

I screamed as flame engulfed me. My coat burned. My left arm charred.

But I survived.

Barely.

Smoke.

Ash.

Silence.

The Flame Warden was a pile of molten slag at my feet.

I dropped to one knee, gasping.

Eve knelt beside me.

"You're burned."

"Just a tan."

She didn't laugh.

I stood up, wobbling.

The stairway to Vermund's throne room loomed ahead, pulsing with darkness.

We kept walking.