The Divine Threshold, the place of deliberation for the gods, emanated a palpable tension. The energy screens floating before them projected Biel’s actions—his struggles and decisions that could change the very course of the universe. Solaryon, the God of Light, leaned forward, his gaze fixed on the young man’s silhouette.
"He is a danger," Solaryon insisted, his firm voice resonating like thunder. "If we do not learn to control his influence, the balance of all creation is at risk."
Nyxaris, the Goddess of Shadows, let out a dry laugh, wrapped in glooms that seemed to absorb the light itself. "Always so fearful, Solaryon. Balance is not something to be forced; it is something built, even through chaos."
Before he could respond, the screens began to flicker. The images of Biel and his group distorted, as if an unknown force were intervening. Suddenly, the screens went completely dark, plunging the Threshold into an oppressive silence. The gods exchanged looks of astonishment and bewilderment.
"What is happening here?" Solaryon asked, rising from his golden throne. "Who dares interrupt our observation?"
An echo rang through the vastness of the Threshold. A deep, imposing voice, loaded with an authority that even the gods had never felt before, emerged from the void.
"You! Puppets of the High Ones... The Rifilser."
The figure of a messenger materialized before them. He wore dark armor adorned with engravings that seemed to pulse with living energy. His face was covered by an intricate mask, and his presence radiated unquestionable power. The gods stood up, sensing that this entity was no simple creature.
"The Rifilser? Who are they?" asked Chronasis, the God of Time, whose voice rarely betrayed curiosity or emotion.
The messenger looked at them, his posture as steady as a mountain. "They are the entities above you—the creators and guardians of the laws of the Universe and the Megaverse. I have been sent to warn you: do not attempt anything with the mortals. They must resolve their problems on their own. If you intervene, you will be punished."
A murmur from the gods filled the Threshold, their incredulity evident. Elaris, the Goddess of Life, took a step forward.
"Why now? We have intervened before, guiding mortals in their moments of need. Why are we restricted now?"
The messenger interrupted her with a cold but serene voice. "You do not comprehend the magnitude of your existence. There are 1,776 gods in all the Universe and the Megaverse, and you are not the strongest. Above you, there are entities far more ancient and powerful. The Rifilser see everything. This is your final warning."
The messenger took a step back, the energy in the Threshold vibrating intensely. "That is all. We shall meet again soon."
In the blink of an eye, he vanished. The screens flickered back on, focusing on Biel and his group. However, the atmosphere in the Threshold had changed. The gods remained motionless, reflecting on what they had just heard.
"More than 1,776 gods?" muttered Veyrith, the God of Chaos, with a twisted smile. "This changes the rules of the game, doesn't it?"
Solaryon closed his eyes, his usual brilliance dimmed. "Now, we can only watch."
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Meanwhile, on the mortal plane, Biel and his group left the city with their sights set on a new destination: the High City where Lip, the Vampire King, awaited them. The air was thick with tension. Acalia walked at the front, while Xanthe and Easton exchanged words in low voices. Biel remained silent, his thoughts consumed by the revelations from his dream.
"Lip... I'm coming for you!" he murmured, clenching his fists with determination.
Easton, walking at the rear, noticed Biel’s nervousness and approached him. "Everything alright, kid?"
Biel nodded, though his eyes revealed otherwise. "Yeah, just thinking."
Easton didn't press, but he knew something was troubling the young man.
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In a place far more distant than the Divine Threshold, a dark fortress known as Moldemir rose from a landscape of desolation. There, the messenger knelt before an imposing throne forged in the deep reaches of the stars. The voice of the being occupying the throne echoed through the hall.
"Did you deliver the message?"
"Yes, my lord. The gods have been warned."
A low, deep laugh filled the room. "Perfect. Now I will handle this. The Rifilser have decided to watch, but I... I shall move the pieces on this board at my will!"
The messenger bowed his head. "Do you wish for me to intervene again, my lord?"
The voice responded coldly. "Not for now. The mortals will face their trials, but if any of them get too close to the truth, then I shall act."
The messenger vanished into shadows, leaving the being on his throne, his gaze fixed on an orb showing Biel and his group. "The fate of the multiverse is about to change... and I will be the one to control it!"
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Back with Biel, the group arrived at the gates of the High City. Imposing black towers soared toward the sky, and an oppressive atmosphere enveloped them. Biel swallowed hard, his determination renewed as he moved toward the fate that awaited him.
"Lip, soon we shall face each other!" he whispered, while Acalia watched him from a distance, her face a mix of worry and resolve. The true game had begun.
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After the messenger’s departure, the Divine Threshold fell into a silent chaos. The gods exchanged glances, trying to process what they had just heard. Chronasis, his face ever serene, leaned toward the center of the Threshold, where fragments of the messenger’s energy still glowed faintly.
"This goes beyond our understanding. The Rifilser... entities older than time itself. If what they say is true, then our entire existence is conditioned by rules we do not even know."
Solaryon struck his throne with force, creating a blinding flash. "We cannot stay here and do nothing! If these Rifilser wish for us to watch, what stops them from also controlling the mortals?"
Elaris intervened, her tone quiet but firm. "We must accept our position, Solaryon. If we intervene, what guarantee do we have that we won't be eliminated? The Rifilser have warned us, and I do not intend to defy their will."
Veyrith smiled, leaning forward with evident pleasure at the conflict. "Perhaps this is a greater game than we think. If the Rifilser are so interested in the mortals, maybe we should learn from them. Perhaps Biel is the key to understanding their true intention."
All the gods turned back to the screen showing Biel. The young man moved along a dusty road with his group, his expression reflecting determination and fear in equal measure.
"A simple mortal carrying the fate of the multiverse," Nyxaris murmured. "Perhaps, after all, mortality holds more strength than we imagined."
Silence fell over the Threshold as the gods prepared to watch without interfering, aware they had been relegated to the role of spectators.
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Biel's group passed through the imposing gates of the High City. The bustle of daily life immediately surrounded them: merchants shouted offers, children ran through the streets, and guards watched every corner. However, beneath that facade of normalcy, Biel felt a latent oppression.
Sarah led the group to a discreet inn at the northern end of the city. Once inside, she ensured all doors were closed before speaking.
"This city is not what it seems. Lip has eyes and ears everywhere. If we want to face him, we need a plan."
Ylfur crossed his arms, observing the map spread across the table. "Lip is not only powerful but intelligent. He won't face us directly unless he's sure to win."
Xanthe, who had remained silent, finally spoke. "Then we must make him think he has the advantage. If we can lure him to a place where he is vulnerable, we'll have a chance."
Biel listened in silence, remembering Monsfil’s words in his dream. He knew the confrontation with Lip would only be the beginning of a much larger struggle. Finally, he looked up and met his companions' eyes.
"Whatever the plan is, I'm ready. Lip cannot keep using his power to oppress others."
Acalia nodded, but a deep worry was visible in her eyes. She knew the path to Lip would be full of danger, and that the true test for Biel was still to come.
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