Ch.3 New World III

Ard awoke to the acrid scent of sand and silence.

His vision swam. The world sluggish to take shape. He said, “where are we, Lord Croxeus?”

Around him, the others moved. Sweeping over the desolate landscape, seeking familiarity where none remained. The horizon was barren, an ocean of endless dunes. Indifferent to their plight.

Croxeus stood apart. An anchor in the shifting sands. “I wasn’t sure at first,” he said. “But it seems I was able to bring us all to another universe.”

A lie.

Ard studied him. Then, He inclined his head. “I understand, my lord.”

A quiet relief settled over Croxeus. No questions. No probing. He had no answers to give. Even he could not explain what he did not understand.

Their expressions weighed on him.

A faint hope inside them, a desperate belief that perhaps Croxeus had saved more than just them, vanished.

The realization had settled in. Their universe was gone. Erased.

There was no home to return to. No family. No friends. Only emptiness.

It upset him.

Loss was irreversible. He could not turn back time, could not undo the deletion. But he could act.

He could try to lift their spirits, even if only for a moment. An idea struck him.

With a movement of his wrist, he acted. [Spire of Crimson Shadows]

The Earth split. The ground rendered itself apart as dark stone erupted from beneath the sands. Crimson lightning arced through the air.

And then it rose.

A fortress unlike any.

At its heart stood an impossibly vast stronghold of black obsius. Each slab polished. Majesty of its own architecture reflected within.

Gargantuan walls, layered with gold-veined scriptures. Lines shining faintly. An unsettling effect, as if the fortress was alive.

The gates stood like the maw of an ancient deity. A portal carved from solid black iron, filled with thousands of sigils. They did not depict pointless battles of history—they spoke of cosmic truths. Anyone who looked too long at the carvings felt an unsettling awareness creep into their bones, as if the figures were watching back.

The main tower, a monolithic spire. A blasphemous spear seeking to pierce the heavens. It was lined with angular buttresses, not for support, but for aesthetic. At its peak was an enormous crimson crystal.

And then there were the smaller towers—twenty-two in total. Built around the central keep in a near-perfect formation. Each represented a unique architectural signature. Gothic. Brutalism. Daresay.

Balconies jutted from the walls at unnatural angles, defying conventional physics. Some stretched out into open space without support. Floating platforms, shifting staircases, everything defying the laws.

The architecture, as if designed by a god unconcerned with the limitations of mortals.

The inner courtyard, an expanse of midnight gardens. Black roses, cyan lotuses, Silver—leafed trees, even flowers with no name.

And at the very centre of it all lay a lake of liquid shadow, its surface reflecting nothing. Absolute pitch black.

It was not a fortress meant to be resided. It was a place meant to be worshiped or feared.

It was the castle once conjured by Croxeus’ mother, the Demoness Queen. Croxeus had 'stolen' it in fiction.

But in reality, it was Avin who brought this back to life. He had shaped this place with codes and pixels. It was a tribute to his brother’s creativity and the fruit of his dedication.

Croxeus admired his creation as a proud creator, and stood in awe of his own artisan.

For a brief moment, the weight of sorrow eased. Awe reflected in their expressions. Dulled but present.

Croxeus saw it. But no triumph yet. The emptiness was still there. No fortress, no illusion of grandeur, could replace what had been lost. This was but a temporary balm against the inevitable.

His shoulders sagged, ever so slightly. But he straightened.

There was no point in lamenting what was gone. The past could not be reclaimed.

Move forward, he told himself. Because there is nothing left behind.

Croxeus turned to them. “Rest for today. We'll see what this world has to offer tomorrow. I expended a significant amount of magical energy bringing us here. I need to recover.”

A lie.

But they needed the rest. The illusion of safety and of control, would do them good.

Before leading them inside, Croxeus raised a hand.

The air glitched. [Eka-Plutonium Barrier]—a defence barrier. [Invisible Barrier]—a veil to shroud them.

Only then did he turn toward the towering structure.

The grand doors swung open at his approach.

The entrance hall stretched impossibly vast. So grand that it seemed to distort perspective.

Black stone pillars carved with ancient inscriptions. Their surfaces pulsed lightly with an internal glow.

A floor of obsidian glass spread beneath. Polished so perfectly, it might be mistaken for actual reality.

At the hall’s centre, a levitating chandelier of crimson etherium burned with unquenchable flame. It cast no shadow. For it was not light in the mundane sense but the illumination itself.

Ahead lay the Grand Staircase. Not bound to any single axis, stretching in directions that defied logic.

Two colossal statues flanked the staircase. Carved from black marble, their figures depicted unknown deities, each holding a sword wreathed in eternal flames. Their eyes, cold and resolute, followed all who entered. Judging, measuring, deciding.

The first great hall lay beyond the stairs—a cathedral of war.

Walls lined with black banners bore different crests. Rows of armours stood in perfect formation. These were not empty armours but warriors, dormant until the call to arms sounded once more.

The ceiling stretched beyond sight, carefully painted in liquid gold. The images changed with every glance, telling different stories. Some of creation, some of conquest, some of utter annihilation.

Deeper still, through a series of impossibly winding corridors, lay the Heart of the Fortress—the Throne Hall.

A path of black marble and molten silver veins led to an elevated platform. Upon it rested the throne.

The throne was forged from a single piece of world stone. Its back was so high that they seemed to touch the glass window near the ceiling above.

The enormous stained-glass window overlooked the courtyard. Through it, the sky was not the sky of this world, but an infinite expanse of something beyond. An infinite cosmic gulf painted with deep blue and violet with glows of golden and silver.

Croxeus inhaled deeply. Absorbing every detail, admiring his work as a proud artist.

Their footsteps echoed in the silence.

Fatigue weighed on them, sorrow clinging to their forms. Yet, despite their grief, their gazes lingered on the grandeur around them. A distraction. A fleeting reprieve.

“Pick any room you like,” Croxeus said, gesturing to the grand staircase that split into endless corridors.

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It wasn’t much. It wouldn’t mend the fractures in their souls. But it was something.

They ascended. One by one, they disappeared behind heavy doors, vanishing into solitude.

Croxeus remained.

His gaze lingered on the sealed doors, his mind tracing the weight of their unspoken grief.

He exhaled slowly. A structure, no matter how grand, could not replace what they had lost.

Still, he would protect them.

Not as a God, nor as a saviour, but as a family.

*

A dim cadmium glow filled the room, casting shadows over the black marble floor. A chandelier of gold and crystals hung above, its warm flames reflecting off a towering bookshelf carved from dark brown wood.

Against the contrast of black walls, a white ceiling. Just like the white bedding on the grand ebony bed in the centre.

Ard was going back and forth, thinking.

The door creaked. Tiya entered, her silhouette slicing through the dim candlelight.

She carried no hesitation, no faltering in her steps. Only calculated intent. Her dark eyes, void of unnecessary emotion, scanned the room, assessing its every detail before settling upon Ard.

“Ard,” she began. “Are you alright?”

Ard stopped in his tracks. Slowly, he turned,

“Alright huh.” His voice was low. “I thought it was all over… I had resigned myself to fate. But fate has a peculiar sense of humour, doesn’t it?"

Tiya observed him. His rage was palpable, but it was controlled.

“I know. First that god then the world broke apart like it was nothing. Then this…” she came closer to him, “another world. Just how many playhouses have these so-called gods created?”

“You should address our saviour properly.” Ard stepped forward.

Tiya’s expression remained unchanged. “Saviour?” she asked. “You mean that fragile god who couldn’t even save himself, let alone our world? Forgive me if I don't kneel before failure”

Ard’s eyes snapped to hers. “Don’t speak as though his fall was his own design. He fought to save our world, risked everything. His true form is already gone.... and yet you try to mock him?”

Tiya narrowed her eyes. “Yes, he tried, but he failed. He could not save our universe. He could not prevent its destruction. What kind of God is that?”

“Remove this thought from your mind this instant,” Ard’s voice cracked. “You don’t understand.”

Tiya’s expression remained unchanged. She did not flinch, nor did she cower. “I understand plenty. I understand that gods should not fail. I also understand that he is the same as the other 10 Gods who were responsible for the destruction of our world.”

“You are wrong.” He took a step forward, towering over her. “Lord Croxeus is not one of those other ten impostors. He stands above them. He is the true incarnate.”

“He is nothing more than a coward, here to play with our lives and wash away his guilt by pretending to care. I wouldn’t be shocked if—h”

“You fail to see the reality, Tiya.” Ard's words cut through hers. “Whether you accept it or not, he is our only path forward.”

She studied him, eyes cold. “You sound almost desperate.”

Ard let out a low, mirthless chuckle. “Desperation implies a lack of control. I assure you. I am in full control.”

Tiya wasn’t convinced. “And yet you refuse to consider the possibility that he isn’t what you think he is.”

“Tch... how unlike you Tiya. You let your past dictate your reasoning,” Ard said. “This isn't analysis, it's resentment. Listen to yourself. This is not the Tiya I know. This is cognitive dissonance. You are chained by your own dogma.”

Tiya narrowed her eyes and reflected on herself.

“Is that so?” she murmured. “Then I apologise, It seems I've spoken out of turn.”

Ard’s posture loosened, just slightly. He took a breath. “Good.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then, he spoke again. “Those ten... will pay.”

Tiya’s eyes locked on him. So that was his decision.

“The ten gods?” She asked, though she already knew the answer.

Ard nodded.

“But that’s impossible,” Her voice was factual, unshaken. “You can’t even reach them, let alone defeat them.”

Ard’s voice did not waver. “This goal might seem unachievable, but it’s the only one that makes sense. The only one that matters. Even if I’m facing 10 impossible enemies, I have a god behind me—a real one.”

“A god whose real body is destroyed,” Tiya countered. “A god who is magically depleted right now. Ard, we’re powerless.”

“No.” His voice was absolute. “We’re not. We can and we will, one day. For even the Gods are bound to slip. Just like they made the mistake of leaving Lord Croxeus alive, they’ll make others. And when they do, we’ll be ready. We’ll capitalize on them.”

A pause. Then—

“I won’t pressure you to help me, you are free to do what you want to.” He spoke.

She studied him for a long moment, then exhaled. “Between fighting Gods and anything else, you already know what I will choose. Crushing fake idols has always appealed to me.”

Ard’s gaze fixed on her for a fraction longer than necessary. “We should check up on others.”

He turned, walking toward the door. Tiya followed.

*

The grand hall, an overwhelming spectacle. Its ceiling stretched high into the darkness glimmering with golden constellations in constant motion. Enormous, carved pillars inscribed with statues and symbols of unknown deities.

The walls painted in all black were designed with velvet tapestries. These designs depicted some myths and legends which were hard to decipher. Worlds clashing, kings clashing, cities being resurrected.

Outside the hall, near the edge of a massive, dimly lit corridor, Rict Rex and Ronny sat together.

Ronny exhaled deeply, resting his head against the cold stone wall. “My family… They were really annoying, you know? Always texting, always calling me, more than five times a day, just to check on me. I used to ignore them.” He let out a hollow laugh. “I pushed them away. I always thought, ‘I’ll have plenty of time once I accomplish something.’ But I was wrong.”

Rict Rex, standing by one of the grand pillars, watched him carefully. “You loved them,” he said simply. “And they loved you. Regret doesn’t change that. I don’t know why we’re here, or what happens after this. But if they could see you, do you think they’d want you to waste away in ‘what-ifs’?”

Ronny scoffed. His hands loose in desperation, his fingers tightening into fists. “Maybe not. But that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t know why am I even alive?”

Ard approached them, his sharp, black eyes locked onto Ronny.

“Then let me give you a reason. Mourning won’t bring them back. But ensuring that this never happens again? That is something worth staying alive for.”

Ronny lifted his head, “never happens again huh? Can we really do that?” he muttered. “We’re talking about gods. We don’t stand a chance.”

Ard’s response was immediate. “It’s not about whether we can or can’t. It’s about the fact that we must.”

Ard turns to Rect Rix, “And I think you already know that don’t you?”

A shift in the room. Rict Rex crossed his arms, exhaling slowly. “Let’s say I agree,” he said. “Let’s say we somehow gather the necessary power. There’s still one problem.” He leaned forward slightly. “You assume he’s willing to fight.”

Silence.

Ard’s expression didn’t change. “I assume he knows the cost of not fighting.”

“That’s still not an answer.”

Ard took a step closer. “He understands loss better than anyone. He’s felt their betrayal firsthand. He knows what will happen if they are not stopped.”

“And if he refuses?”

“Then he refuses.” Ard’s voice was devoid of hesitation. “But at least we’ll know we did everything we could. We will plead. We will reason. But without him, we are nothing.”

“That means you’re betting everything on him.”

Ard’s voice did not waver. “What other choice do we have?”

As their conversation reached an impasse, the great doors to the chamber swung open with a deep and resonant groan.

A chilling breeze rolled in, carrying with it an undeniable pressure—an overwhelming presence that filled the space instantly.

Croxeus entered.

His white robe dragged along the black marble floor. The thump of his spear shaped staff, as sharp as a sword piercing an armour. And his pale expressionless face as ever.

“I see you’ve all gathered here,” he said.

Ard’s eyes widened with reverence. Then, in one swift motion, he dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead to the cold marble floor. His voice carried unwavering conviction. “My lord.”

Croxeus blinked. For a brief moment, the mask faltered. This level of devotion… He hadn’t expected it.

Tiya, lowered herself onto one knee, though her expression remained as unreadable as ever. Ronny hesitated, glancing sideways at Rict Rex, who sighed and relented, kneeling as well.

Croxeus coughed awkwardly. “Y-yes, I think that’s enough.”

Ronny and Rict Rex lifted their heads, but Ard remained motionless, speaking with absolute resolve. “My lord, I know you are humble, but you are a god, and I am merely human.”

Croxeus forced himself to maintain composure. “That’s—That’s unnecessary. You may rise.”

Ard did not move. “It is not just reverence, my lord. I have a request.”

Croxeus thought, A request? What does he want? Outwardly, he simply nodded. “Of course. Is it food? The magic here can create anything you desire.”

“No, my lord,” Ard’s voice was firm. “It’s something far greater. I want to stop those ten gods.”

For a split second, Croxeus’s mind blanked. The ten gods? You could only stop them if they existed in the first place….

“You wish to stop them?” he said slowly. “I don’t believe it’s possible, Ard. You know their power. They are gods, far beyond your reach.”

“I know my Lord,” Ard said. “But I still want to try.”

Croxeus internally winced. He needed to divert this conversation.

He exhaled, feigning wisdom. “How do you plan to do it? You stand in an unfamiliar world, powerless, without knowledge. Even survival here will be a challenge. And yet, you wish to stand against the very creators of this world?”

Ard’s eyes flashed with understanding. “I see now, my lord.”

Croxeus stiffened. Huh? What does he see?

“You wish for me to prove myself first,” Ard said, his voice filled with renewed purpose. “To show that I am capable.”

Croxeus hesitated. I think this better for now, at least he won’t nag me more questions about those fake Gods. I better come up with good stories and excuses in the meantime. Then slowly, he nodded. “Precisely.”

Ard’s determination solidified. “Then I will do whatever it takes to prove myself, my lord.”

He sighed as if granting divine favour. “Very well. But be cautious. This world is vast, and we know little of its dangers.”

Ard inquired, “my lord, was this world created by you?”

“No,” Croxeus admitted. “Even I know little of it.”

“In that case, allow me to gather intelligence,” Ard said. “It would be my honour.”

Croxeus hesitated. “Very well.”

This is fine. He convinced himself. So long as he never uncovers the truth...

Then he added, “I shall grant you the means to establish yourself in this world.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Ard said in reverence. “We are forever grateful to you—for saving our lives and giving us a new one.”