The sun did not shine upon the Wailing Wastes.
It was a land carved by ancient pain, where winds screamed like the tormented souls buried beneath the scorched dunes. Red sand shifted endlessly, shaped not by nature but by the rituals of forgotten gods and the blood of their victims. The sky was a perpetual twilight—neither day nor night—choked by stormclouds too afraid to weep.
Liam stood at the edge of it all, cloak whipping in the dry wind, his staff glowing faintly in his grip.
Behind him stretched his army—no longer just villagers and broken survivors. Now they were believers. Warriors. Disciples of flame and justice.
Among them marched Elenari, her seraphic wings folded, her eyes glowing with divine foresight. Seraphina led a detachment of sword-wielding fanatics clad in crimson leather, bearing the newly forged insignia of the Flameborn. The Temple's first military division.
At the rear, the newly inducted Angel of War, Garran—once a slave gladiator—walked in solemn silence. His wings were plated in bronze-like armor, feathers as sharp as blades. He had not spoken since his ascension, but his presence said enough.
Rune hovered by Liam's side, unusually quiet.
"This place feels like it remembers death," she said softly, her spirit-form flickering in the dry heat.
"It does," Liam replied. "And it's about to remember vengeance too."
The march began.
They traversed over jagged cliffs, past ruined pillars of obsidian etched with demonic runes, and through rivers of dust that whispered with voices of the damned.
Mara, the former demon cult seer, guided them. Her knowledge of sacrificial grounds and hell-forged markers let them avoid traps and false paths.
"Five priests remain," she warned. "Each commands a different domain of power: Pain, Illusion, Plague, Chains, and Hunger."
"And the one who wears my father's face?" Liam asked.
She bowed her head. "He leads them. Priest of Chains. His fortress lies at the heart of the Wastes—The Maw."
That night, they camped beneath a shattered pillar where no wind could scream.
Liam stood apart from the others, meditating near a torch lit with sacred flame.
The system chimed quietly in his mind.
System Notification: Ascension Progress Update
Divine Influence: Spreading across two territoriesTemple of Flame and Faith – OperationalTotal Faith Points: 104,200Followers: 984Angels: 2
Ascension Level: Tier 3 Initiated
Unlocking New Ability: Divine Edict – Wrath of the Chosen
Effect: Temporarily imbues selected followers with a fragment of godly power. Duration: 10 minutes. Cost: 10,000 FP per use. Cooldown: 24 hrs.
Rune perked up. "That power… it's not just about faith now, Liam. You're turning your followers into weapons."
"I'm turning them into fire," he said. "The kind that doesn't go out."
At dawn, they saw it: The Maw.
It wasn't a fortress in the traditional sense. It was a massive hole torn into the earth, surrounded by jagged iron towers and monstrous statues of chained demons. The air shimmered with unholy heat. Screams echoed from below—real and spiritual.
The cult had burrowed deep beneath the ground, building their haven in the womb of death.
Elenari flinched. "This place… bleeds."
Mara nodded grimly. "Every brick down there is sealed with soul magic. You can't breach it with force."
"Then we burn it from within," Liam said.
He turned to his army.
"Tonight, we fight a foe not of flesh—but of belief twisted and dark. They call themselves priests, but they are parasites. They think wearing my father's skin makes them gods."
He lifted his staff.
"Let them learn what a true god looks like."
The descent was chaos wrapped in ritual.
Garran led the charge, cleaving through fleshcrafted abominations guarding the Maw's spiraling stairway. The Faithborn—the name now given to Liam's core disciples—followed, chants of flame and justice echoing through the corridors.
Inside, the Maw was alive. Veins of blood pulsated through the walls. Eyes blinked from stone. Screams bounced like wind. Traps of illusion tried to turn the warriors against each other—but Elenari's foresight cut through them like light in fog.
At the second gate, they met the Priest of Illusion—a thin, masked figure who conjured entire armies from fear and shadow.
But Liam wasn't a boy anymore.
He stepped forward, raised his hand, and invoked his divine gift:
"Enhance – Sight of the Godflame."
His eyes blazed gold. The illusions withered. He impaled the priest with a spear of light before the cultist could even scream.
System Notification:
Enemy Defeated – High Priest of Illusion
Faith Gained: +12,000
New Divine Skill Unlocked: Illusory Wrath – Create a fear-based illusion that damages enemies mentally and spiritually.
The army pushed deeper.
Next, they faced the Priest of Plague—a rotting woman whose breath turned lungs to tar. She unleashed a fog of pestilence that dropped five soldiers instantly.
But Liam had learned from his past battles.
He raised his staff and spoke a word born from the Temple itself.
"Create – Flame of Purity."
A circle of fire erupted, burning away the fog and disintegrating the priest in one glorious roar.
They didn't stop to mourn the lost.
They knew what they had come for.
And finally, they reached the inner sanctum.
The Hall of Chains.
Massive iron links hung from the ceiling like tendrils of a godless beast. Skulls were embedded in the walls—some human, some not.
At the center stood the man who wore Liam's father's skin.
He turned.
The face… it was perfect. Familiar. Loving. The same kind eyes Liam had once trusted.
But they now belonged to a monster.
"Hello, son," the priest said in a voice drenched in mockery.
Rage tore through Liam like lightning.
He stepped forward, gold and red light flaring from his skin. The walls trembled.
"I'm not your son," he said coldly. "But you'll remember my name as you die."
Stat Increases (Liam):
Strength: +6Speed: +5Endurance: +7Magic: +10Charisma: +6Control: +8
Updated Stats:Strength – 144Speed – 126Endurance – 159Magic – 191Charisma – 120Control – 143
Total Faith Points: 106,200Followers: 984Angels: 2Divine Skill Gained: Flame of Purity, Illusory Wrath
End of Chapter 74