THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

A serpentine staircase, treacherously carved into the jagged cliffs, wound its way toward the castle's iron gates. The steps, smoothed and worn from the weight of countless souls who had climbed in vain, whispered of forgotten ambitions and lost hopes. Those who dared to ascend were swallowed by the labyrinthine halls beyond, their fates sealed by the castle's cold indifference.

Perpetual twilight bathed the fortress in a sinister glow, its crumbling walls thick with moss and creeping ivy that crawled over stone etched with the scars of ancient battles. The air was thick with the scent of rot and decay, and the faintest echoes of tortured screams seemed to drift on the wind.

High above, blackened windows gaped like soulless eyes, watching over the bleak wasteland with a chilling, indifferent gaze. The castle guarded its dark secrets fiercely, each stone seemingly imbued with the memories of horrors long past.

Within this castle, vast rooms and empty chambers stretched endlessly, silent except for one particular space—a room shrouded in shadows, where the air felt heavy with tension. At the center of this dark chamber, a massive stone table rested like an altar to something far older than the world itself. The table was round and rough-hewn, its surface etched with glowing runes that pulsed softly in the dim light.

Atop the table was a swirling projection of a colossal tree, its branches stretching out in every direction, supporting countless worlds like delicate fruits hanging from its limbs. Mystical creatures perched on some of the branches—serpentine dragons, phoenixes of flame, and other ethereal beings—while below, the tree's roots slithered through the void, entwined with writhing, nightmarish abominations that oozed malice.

Around the table, figures in pristine white cloaks sat silently, their faces obscured by ornate masks, each one unique, hinting at a deeper meaning or identity hidden beneath. The masks glowed faintly in the dimness, casting strange, flickering shadows across the room. The figures sat in eerie stillness, their gazes fixed on the projection, though their expressions remained hidden behind their masks.

Standing apart from them, one solitary figure remained, positioned near the grey, foreboding wall at the far end of the room. This lone figure faced the wall as though waiting for a signal, its silence as oppressive as the darkness that surrounded them. The room, filled with an otherworldly tension, felt like the heart of the storm—a place where fate and power converged, waiting for the moment when everything would unravel.

The solitary figure turned slowly, her movements graceful yet commanding an air of undeniable power. As she walked toward the group gathered around the table, her presence became even more imposing. The white cloak clung tightly to her voluptuous form, hinting at her deadly allure, though none dared to look directly at her. Her mere presence exuded an aura of doom, an unspoken warning that to meet her gaze could mean certain death.

With deliberate slowness, she pulled out a tall, intricately carved wooden chair and took her seat at the head of the table. Obscured by the mask that concealed her face, she scanned the room, her sharp eyes assessing each figure before her. A heavy silence filled the air, broken only by her voice, cutting through the tension like a blade. "I see all of you have made it," she began, her tone sharp and commanding. "Some in person, others through astral projection."

Her words hung in the air as the figures around the table shifted slightly. "I called you here for one reason," she continued, pausing for effect. "The plan has failed."

A murmur of disbelief rippled through the group. One of the members, his voice youthful and incredulous, dared to speak up. "You can't be serious—his plan failed?"

"Yes," the host responded coldly, her tone laced with derision. "That foolish demon underestimated the De Gors." Her lips curled slightly in disdain. "It seems even the disgraced son of the family played us all. He not only deceived his kin but also led us astray regarding his supposed weakness."

The young man's curiosity piqued, he pressed further, "Has the demon made a move since then?"

The host waved a dismissive hand, her voice filled with irritation. "Leave the demon be. He has refused to join this meeting and is currently in a fit of rage. His failure has humiliated him."

Suddenly, a burst of laughter echoed across the chamber. It was light, playful, and full of mischief—a childish, charming sound that cut through the tense atmosphere. The host's eyes narrowed, her voice turning dangerously cold. "Is there something amusing?"

The laughter abruptly stopped, leaving an oppressive silence in its wake. The host's question lingered, like a coiled serpent ready to strike, her tone a warning that there would be no second chances if the answer displeased her. The mood in the room darkened, as everyone waited to see who would dare challenge her command again.

"Do you honestly believe the plan failed because the boy concealed his insignificant strength?" The childish, alluring voice rang out, defending her stance against the host's cold gaze. "The plan was flawless, accounting for every possible variable. It's as if he knew we were coming and acted the moment we struck."

The host exhaled slowly, her displeasure barely concealed. As much as she hated to admit it, David had indeed proven to be a far greater variable than the demon had anticipated. "You've made your point," she conceded, her voice begrudging. "The De Gors are out of play until the demon provides his insight on the boy."

A chuckle broke the tense silence, the young-voiced man leaning back with amusement. "Played at our own game," he mused, his laughter mocking the absurdity of it all. They were beings of immense power, capable of wiping out armies of swordmasters with ease, yet they had been outmaneuvered by the weakest of the weak, a mere boy.

"So, what do you think of this David?" the young man asked, turning to a companion who seemed entirely disinterested in the conversation. His boots rested casually on the stone table as he brushed off the question with a dismissive wave.

"Nothing to think about him," the man replied lazily.

"Nothing?" The young man's voice bristled with irritation. "Weren't you the one who suggested we target the Earl through his son, the weakest link?"

The companion sighed, visibly bored. "I gave you the key to bring the Earl down. You failed. Don't drag me into your mess." With that, his projection flickered and vanished.

"Aargh, I hate that bastard," the young man muttered to the host.

"Leave him be," the host commanded, her tone firm. She knew they were all powerful in their own right, and despite their differences, they were united by a shared cause.

A man in the group turned toward the host, his voice a deep rumble of respect. "What should be our next course, my Lady?"

"We strike the House of Ironblade," she answered, her tone cold and decisive.

"Are you mad?" protested the mysterious young woman with the captivating, childlike voice. "It's too soon to confront the Archon of Warfare! He specifically said he'd handle her."

"I've made my decision," the host commanded, her voice brooking no argument. "The Archon is already compromised, and the Demon can no longer be trusted to lead. We strike now."

A heavy silence fell over the group as they exchanged wary glances, the gravity of her words sinking in. None dared to challenge her further. The age of the Great Cataclysm was upon Ternion, and soon, their mother would rule not just one realm but the cosmos itself.

The host's eyes swept over the assembled figures, her tone final. "Our meeting is concluded."

One by one, the astral projections flickered and faded, vanishing into the dim air like dying embers. Those physically present rose from their seats in silence, their cloaks brushing the cold stone floor as they made their way out, each footstep echoing in the vast chamber.

Once alone, the host leaned back in her chair, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the table. Her thoughts drifted to David.

"What more will you show me, boy?" she mused, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

****

A/N: Welcome to the second volume of

Gods Among Men

! I'm beyond excited to take you deeper into this epic journey, where new battles, hidden truths, and unimaginable powers await. Brace yourselves for a world where mortals challenge gods, and the lines between destiny and chaos blur. Your continued support means everything, and I can't wait to share what's next in this unfolding saga.