The Guardian gods

The worst part was the agonizing uncertainty. Was his will to survive his own, or was it the instinct of a body corrupted by Vorenza? Falling from a cliff, he would find himself instinctively shooting out webs to catch himself, an action born of a physical instinct that warred with his emotional despair. He was no longer a man; he was a tool, a puppet, forever bound to a life he no longer wanted.

Walking into the territory of a stronger beast, Chief found himself, almost on autopilot, killing it. His mind was a haze of madness, and he wandered aimlessly, a creature without purpose, until one night, everything changed.

He continued his walk under the cold gaze of the moon, just like any other day. All of a sudden, the anguished roar of Vorenza ripped through his mind. A wave of calm relief washed over his body and soul, and for a brief, joyous moment, the idea that he was finally free took hold.

But his joy was short-lived. He began to shudder uncontrollably. "It's so cold," he thought to himself, a terrifying realization dawning on him. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt cold. He found himself unable to move, his feet somehow turning into a frozen sculpture that was rapidly climbing up his body.

Chief knew his time had come, and he welcomed it. It had been a long time coming. He had no regrets, only the sorrow of not being able to see his people stand tall and free. He shook his head, his thoughts turning to Rattan. Perhaps he should have done more for the boy. Rattan seemed destined for greatness, but he had lost his way.

The cold, unforgiving moonlight seemed to bless his final moments. His vision, already blurring from the encroaching ice, fixed on the moon, a cold orb in a sky he had once found solace in. The icy sculpture, which had begun at his feet, now encased his entire being, turning him into a grotesque monument of despair.

The forest, a place of life and death, would now be his tomb, a cold tomb to a warrior who had lost his way. The moonlight reflected off the icy sculpture, making it glow with a faint blue light in the night. The stillness of his death was a stark contrast to the life he had lived, a life of endless fighting and suffering. He had found his end, not in a blaze of glory, but in a silent, icy stillness, a tragic end to a warrior who had lost everything he held dear.

Rattan now acting as Kaelen took to the sky. With the capital of the empire sprawled beneath him, he summoned the frozen demon head of Vorenza, a grotesque trophy held aloft in his hand.

A profound silence fell over the city as Kaelen's booming voice, amplified by magic, echoed through every street and alley. People stopped in their tracks, their gazes drawn upward to the figure of a colossal ogre floating in the sky.

"Your majesty, the Emperor!" Kaelen's roar shook the very stones of the palace. "I, Kaelen, King of the Ogres, am proud to announce that I have completed your mission and brought back the head of the demon queen who terrorized our people!"

By the time the last word faded into the stunned silence, Kaelen had already descended. He knelt on the steps of the imperial palace, his massive form a testament to his power, and presented his prize: the gruesome, frozen head of the demon queen Vorenza, still held in his outstretched hand.

The remaining sixth-tier figures of the empire, their faces a mask of shock and disbelief, appeared in the sky. Their surprise was palpable, a mixture of awe and disgust as they looked upon the returning ogre king and his macabre offering.

They already knew of the mages' demise. The mages' towers, once beacons of arcane power, had shown signs of losing their masters, a silent testament to the devastating battle. But what truly sickened them was Kaelen's boastful return.

Kaelen, a warrior with no tower to tether his life force to, was an unknown variable. While the mages' fate was clear, Kaelen's was not. They had hoped he too had perished. But now, here he was, back with the very prize he had been assigned to retrieve.

The mages' eyes fixed on the frozen head, confirming its authenticity. The subtle, yet unmistakable trace of their fallen comrade Lyra's magic lingered on it, a stark reminder of her final act. Their attention was quickly diverted by a growing murmur from the streets below. A crowd was gathering at the palace, their curiosity piqued by the sudden spectacle.

Exchanging a look of shared displeasure, the mages' frowns deepened. The palace gates swung open, and the emperor emerged in his royal regalia, his face, as always, obscured by a mysterious veil. Behind him was Vellok, the grand chancellor, his expression a carefully constructed mask of neutrality, though a flicker of disdain betrayed his true feelings toward the returning ogre king.

The conflict was a physical weight on both the Emperor and Vellok. Kaelen was supposed to be dead. His demise was meant to be the cornerstone of a new era for the empire, an era where power was consolidated and controlled. They had sent him to face Vorenza with a silent, terrible hope that he would meet his end by her hand. The plan had been for one of the three mages—or at least one of them—to return with the demon queen's head, cementing the mages' power and influence over the military.

The reality was far worse than their worst fears. Not only had Kaelen survived, but his presence on the warfront had transformed the empire's army. He had taken a stagnant force and molded it into a disciplined, potent fighting machine, making victory against the demonic hordes seem not just possible, but within reach.

Now, he knelt on the palace steps, the monstrous head of Vorenza held aloft, a clear and undeniable symbol of his success. The army knew of his accomplishments, and a tangible wave of admiration emanated from the rapidly growing crowd. As the Emperor and Vellok descended the steps, they could feel the people's respect and awe for the kneeling ogre. Thе gеnuinе аrtiсlе rеsidеs оn М|V|L&ЕМРYR.

Kaelen should have been branded a traitor for his defiance and insubordination. But with this ultimate victory, he had flipped the script. Now, both the Emperor and Vellok were forced to swallow their pride and acknowledge the ogre's achievements. They were trapped, forced to honor a man they wanted to see dead, all while the people celebrated their "hero."

Vellok, his face a mask of practiced calm, stepped forward. "Kaelen," he began, his voice surprisingly warm, "you have done what many believed to be impossible. You have brought a new hope to our people." He gestured to the frozen head. "This is a victory for all of us."

Rattan, in the guise of Kaelen, raised his massive head. His eyes, cold and calculating, met Vellok's. He offered a small, grateful nod, a theatrical grin spreading across his face. It was a perfect imitation of the old Kaelen, the ogre king who had always looked down upon the mages with a mixture of amusement and disdain.

The subtle act was a jab, a reminder of the dynamic they once shared, and a clear signal that Kaelen, or the man playing him, was far from the pliable tool they had hoped for. The crowd roared in approval, mistaking the gesture for a sign of humility. Vellok's smile tightened just a fraction, a barely perceptible crack in his carefully constructed facade.

The Emperor seized the moment, placing a hand on Kaelen's shoulder and helping him to his feet. "Kaelen, King of the Ogres," he announced, his voice carrying across the silent plaza, "you have proven your loyalty to the empire and washed away your previous shame of betraying the empire."

He let the last words hang in the air for a moment, a subtle reminder of Kaelen's past transgressions, before continuing, "You have secured our first important victory against our enemy. Now, with your help, we have hope of taking down the rest of the enemy and sending them back from wherever they came from."

Kaelen nodded with a fierce conviction. "Indeed, your majesty. Once I recover, I will continue to serve the empire."

The Emperor turned away from Kaelen to face the cheering crowd. "Now go and celebrate, my people! Share the news of King Kaelen's return and his victory!" he bellowed. The crowd erupted in a thunderous roar, their admiration for their new hero now fully cemented by the Emperor's words.

With a carefully feigned limp, Kaelen walked away from the palace steps, his pace slow and deliberate. The path led him toward the home that had been so unjustly stripped from him. This time, no one dared to stop him. The mages, Vellok, and even the Emperor himself all swallowed their protests, watching in silence as the ogre king made his way home.