I slithered through the dimensional rift onto the caldera's volcanic stones, my serpentine tendrils carrying my twelve-foot form with fluid grace. The surviving Tireless marched behind me in perfect formation, their steel feet ringing against the black rock as the portal sealed shut with a whisper of displaced air.

A semicircle of familiar faces waited near the war table, makeshift furniture constructed from volcanic stone and salvaged wood. The enclave's leadership had gathered here during the siege: Yudron with his weathered features creased in concern, Fargill clutching a ledger against his scaled chest, Akassi leaning heavily on her walking stick, and Sathrak standing at rigid attention despite his recent disgrace. Behind them, dozens of monster refugees peered from between the colorful tents that now filled the caldera, their eyes reflecting the eerie glow from the many magical lamps hung along posts to provide light.

Behind the table, the Voiceless Prophet's massive boulder-like form dominated the space. Red wounds pulsed across the fifteen-foot shell like heartbeats, and I felt the familiar presence touch my mind with warm approval.

"Well done, my friend," the Prophet's mental voice resonated with genuine pride. "The champion was a formidable opponent, yet you have removed the threat from our children."

I shook my head, the motion sending waves through my long black hair. Several of the watching monsters stepped back, still adjusting to my transformed appearance.

I only defeated Sedna, I corrected, my own Mind Speech carrying to every consciousness in the caldera. Coln the Hand of Death remains alive. The necromancer operates through puppet vessels. I destroyed his current body, but he can inhabit any corpse. The threat isn't eliminated.

The Prophet's mental voice carried a note of ancient wisdom, tinged with something that might have been amusement. "The puppeteer is dangerous, yes, but his threat is not insurmountable as the wind-dancer's was. Sedna could have carved through our defenses like paper given time. Coln? He hides in shadows, controlling the dead from afar. If the humans continue their assault, my children and yours will return them to the earth where they belong."

Yudron stepped forward, his white beard trembling as his eyes studied my transformed form. "Lord Vardiel, you're wounded." His voice carried the strained quality of barely controlled emotion.

I followed his gaze downward, noting for the first time the numerous red, ragged gashes that marred my once pristine white flesh. Sedna's starstone spear had left its mark, wounds that refused to heal despite my flesh's invincible nature. The extraterrestrial material had torn through Primordial flesh as if it was designed to do so. The injuries burned with a constant, low-grade pain that reminded me of mortality even in godhood.

These wounds are nothing new, I replied, my mental voice carrying a note of grim familiarity. I have suffered such marks before.

Yudron's weathered hands clasped together as he stared at me with an intensity that made me uncomfortable. "Is it true then? Have you truly become a god?"

I nodded simply, uncertain how to explain the complex transformation that had elevated me beyond the System's constraints. The mechanics of divine ascension seemed too abstract for casual conversation.

But the Prophet had no such reservations. His ancient presence filled every mind in the caldera as he spoke. "Vardiel has returned to its original state, albeit changed by the Mantle it was forced to don. What you see before you is not a mortal who became divine, but a primeval force reclaiming its rightful form."

The words hung in the air like a thunderclap. Yudron's eyes widened, and his knees suddenly buckled. The proud orc elder dropped to the volcanic stone with a sound that echoed across the caldera, his voice straining with overwhelming joy.

"I knew it," he whispered, tears streaming down his weathered cheeks. "I knew you were special from the moment you arrived. Now I understand why."

Fargill's scaled features scrunched in confusion, his mercantile mind struggling to process this revelation. "What are you talking about, you old fool?"

Yudron's voice rose to a shout that carried across the entire caldera. "Don't you see? He's one of the Ancestors returned! One of the Twelve who created our races, cast down by the false human gods but prophesied to return in our hour of greatest need!"

Akassi's face darkened, her grip tightening on her walking stick. "Yudron, you've lost your mind. The strain of war has addled your thoughts."

But Yudron ignored her, his fervent gaze fixed on my transformed form. "The Twelve Ancestors, creators of the monster races, cast down by twelve false human gods but promised to return when their children needed them most. The prophecies spoke truth!"

I frowned, my mechanical features shifting as I processed his words. While it was true that I had once been the Primordial Machalaziel, and that Primordials had indeed created the monsters that now populated the world, I doubted very much that I qualified as one of their "Ancestors." Even as Machalaziel, all my creations had been machinery. All my children were composed of gears and pistons and elaborate clockwork. I had never given birth to organic creatures, never crafted living flesh and blood.

At least, not to my knowledge.

I opened my mouth to correct Yudron's misconception, to explain that while I might be divine, I wasn't their mythical Ancestor. But before I could speak, the Prophet's voice thundered through every mind present.

"What Yudron speaks is truth. Vardiel and I are indeed the mothers of your people, returned to guide you through this dark hour."

A ripple of gasps swept through the gathered monsters. Many dropped to their knees immediately, pressing their faces to the volcanic stone as prayers and benedictions spilled from their lips in a dozen different languages. Others stood frozen in shock, their minds struggling to reconcile religious faith with present reality.

I watched this display with growing unease, my tendrils coiling restlessly around my divine form. The Prophet was essentially setting us up as gods to be worshipped and obeyed, establishing a theocracy with ourselves at the apex. The implications sent cold dread through my enhanced consciousness.

Among the elders, reactions varied dramatically. Yudron remained on his knees, his face radiant with religious ecstasy. Fargill looked torn, his rational merchant's mind warring visibly with whatever faith he harbored. I was surprised the mercantile kobold possessed any religious convictions at all, but his scaled features showed genuine internal conflict.

Akassi and Sathrak, however, remained unconvinced. The elderly goblin mage stepped forward, her walking stick clicking against the stone as she addressed the Prophet directly.

"I have always believed you to be a holy being," she declared, her voice carrying clearly across the caldera. "A speaker for the Ancestors, yes. A conduit for their divine will. But to actually claim to be one of them?" She shook her head firmly. "That is heresy of the highest order. I believe none of it."

Yudron's face transformed instantly, fury replacing joy as he lurched to his feet. His voice erupted in a roar that echoed off the volcanic walls.

"How dare you question the Voiceless Prophet, now revealed as one of the revered Twelve Ancestors!"

The crowd around us exploded into angry shouts, their voices blending into a cacophony of insults and vitriol directed at the old woman. Fists shook in the air, and I saw several monsters reaching for weapons as religious fervor overwhelmed rational thought.

Before the situation could spiral into violence, I projected my Mind Speech with divine authority, the mental voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.

STOP.

The crowd fell silent instantly, every consciousness in the caldera yielding to my command. Even Yudron's rage cooled, though fury still burned in his eyes.

Such revelations will wait. We remain in the middle of a war. These discussions serve no purpose while enemies threaten your people.

The gathered monsters obeyed, their voices dying to whispers and then to silence. Yudron remained standing, his fists clenched, but he held his tongue. Akassi and Sathrak exchanged grim looks, their expressions suggesting this revelation had created far more problems than it solved.

I reached out with private Mind Speech, directing my thoughts solely to the Prophet. Why did you reveal our nature? This complicates everything.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

His response came warm and patient, tinged with the weight of millennia. Truth is always the best path forward, old friend. I have lied by omission for too long already. Our children need guidance now more than ever. They will feel safer and more secure knowing that their parents stand with them in this dark hour.

I sighed, a sound that emerged as a high musical note from my throat. Perhaps he was right. Despite my elevation to godhood, I had no desire to be worshipped as a deity. The responsibility felt crushing, the expectations impossible to meet. Yet I could see the hope kindling in the eyes of the monsters around us. Many were refugees who had fled persecution, outcasts who had found sanctuary in this volcanic haven.

Rather than dwell on the theological implications of the Prophet's revelation, I turned my attention to more immediate concerns. My enhanced Mind Sight pierced through volcanic stone and distance, allowing me to observe the human army's movements across the Hellzone. Scattered formations fled across the black sand, their retreat chaotic but determined. Some groups had already reached the borders, while others struggled through monster-infested terrain without their champions to protect them.

I watched their exodus with mixed feelings. Part of me hoped their leaders would see reason and withdraw permanently, recognizing that further assault would only result in greater bloodshed. But another part, perhaps influenced by the Mantle of Enmity's lingering presence, whispered that enemies who fled today might return tomorrow with greater numbers and better preparation.

For now, I could only watch and wait, my divine consciousness split between monitoring the retreat and contemplating the weight of accidental godhood that had settled upon my transformed shoulders.

Three hours passed in tense observation as I watched through Mind Sight the complete retreat of the human army from our territory. Their sprawling military encampment, which had covered acres of black sand like a festering wound, disappeared piece by piece as soldiers dismantled tents, loaded wagons, and formed orderly columns for withdrawal. Supply trains stretched across the obsidian landscape as the invaders removed themselves from the Hellzone entirely, their formations growing smaller and more distant with each passing minute.

I released a quiet sigh of relief. The immediate threat had passed, though I harbored no illusions that this represented anything more than a temporary respite. The gods would not abandon their pursuit so easily.

During those hours of watchful waiting, my divine flesh had worked its restorative magic. The numerous wounds Sedna's starstone spear had carved into my pale form closed completely, leaving no trace of the ragged red cuts that had marked my vulnerability. My pure-white skin regained its flawless appearance, unmarred by battle damage. The contrast between my rapid healing and my companions' lingering injuries served as another reminder of the vast gulf that now separated me from mortal existence.

One of my surviving Tireless constructs approached, carrying a burden that drew my immediate attention. The mechanical soldier had retrieved Sedna's starstone spear from the battlefield, presenting the weapon to me with mechanical precision. I accepted the spear carefully, studying the deceptively simple weapon that had come so close to ending my existence.

The spearhead appeared utterly ordinary at first glance, resembling nothing more sophisticated than a primitive flint point. Gray-black stone formed a crude triangle, its edges sharp but unremarkable. Yet beneath that mundane appearance lurked something fundamentally wrong. My enhanced senses recoiled from the starstone's presence, detecting an alien quality that set every instinct on edge. This material did not belong in our world; it existed as an intrusion from beyond, carrying the essence of distant stars and foreign realities.

I gripped the wooden shaft firmly and twisted, snapping the starstone head free with careful deliberation. The moment of separation felt like removing a splinter from infected flesh. Without hesitation, I deposited the otherworldly fragment into my Arsenal, half-expecting the interdimensional storage to reject such foreign matter. To my relief, the starstone vanished into the pocket dimension without resistance, joining the vast collection of weapons and materials housed within that infinite space.

Three familiar presences entered my awareness as they ascended the volcanic staircase toward the caldera. I turned to observe Casper, Barkatus, and Arctur approaching, their appearances telling the story of brutal combat. Both humans showed clear signs of prolonged battle; their armor was dented and pierced in multiple places, dried blood had stained leather and mail, and numerous wounds both treated and untreated marked their exposed skin.

Barkatus bore numerous cuts across his arms and face, the injuries left deliberately unbandaged in typical fashion for the reckless warrior. Casper appeared more sensibly cautious, his many wounds properly dressed with clean bandages and careful stitching, though the sheer number of dressings suggested he had taken considerable punishment during the fighting.

All three wore expressions of disbelieving joy as they approached, their faces lighting up with genuine relief and amazement. Despite their exhaustion and injuries, they radiated the satisfaction of warriors who had survived impossible odds.

Casper reached me first, dropping into a formal bow that spoke of deep respect and unwavering loyalty.

"I knew you could do it, my lord," he declared, his voice carrying both pride and reverence. "Though I confess the transformation exceeds even my expectations."

Barkatus, characteristically irreverent even in the presence of divinity, let out a hearty laugh that echoed across the caldera.

"Look at you! Gotten taller! And a lot more naked, too!"

Heat flooded my consciousness as embarrassment struck like a physical blow. In the chaos of battle and divine transformation, I had completely forgotten my lack of clothing. My new form, while magnificent in its alien beauty, remained entirely unclothed. The realization sent mortification coursing through my enhanced awareness.

Assembly responded to my urgent need, materials flowing from my internal resources as I quickly crafted a simple white gown. The garment materialized around my torso and hips, providing modest coverage for my transformed physique. The fabric draped elegantly across my pale skin, though it did little to conceal the obvious inhuman nature of my new form.

Barkatus's laughter intensified at my hasty clothing efforts, his amusement infectious despite my embarrassment. Even Arctur's normally serious expression cracked into a genuine smile at the absurd situation.

Casper, maintaining his characteristic professionalism, ignored Barkatus's antics entirely and delivered his report with military precision.

"The human army has fully retreated beyond our borders. Their withdrawal appears complete and permanent, at least for now."

Yudron approached our group, his weathered face beaming with gratitude as he bowed deeply before the two humans.

"I cannot express sufficient thanks for your aid in defending our home," the elderly orc declared, his voice thick with emotion. "It must have been extraordinarily difficult to fight against your own kind for the sake of monsters."

Casper shrugged with characteristic understatement, his response simple and direct.

"I merely followed the instructions of my god. Personal sentiment played no role in my actions."

Barkatus offered his own perspective with typical bluntness, grinning as he spoke.

"Human or monster makes no difference to me. Anybody who tries to kill me will die, regardless of their species or affiliations."

I felt compelled to express my own gratitude, addressing all three companions with genuine appreciation.

You performed excellently in holding off Sedna and her forces. Your courage and skill made the difference between victory and catastrophe.

Casper's expression darkened slightly, humility tempering any pride at the praise.

"It required everything we possessed just to drive her away temporarily. Had we fought her a second time, we would have surely lost."

Arctur, his missing arm a stark reminder of the battle's cost, nodded in agreement.

"I was eliminated early in the engagement. Casper and Barkatus carried the burden of combat while I lay helpless."

Barkatus immediately slapped the lizardman's remaining shoulder with friendly force, his voice carrying genuine respect.

"Don't be so modest! You fought like a fierce beast and should take pride in your performance. We all did what we could."

I gazed down at my three companions. These remarkable individuals who had followed me through countless trials and hardships, never wavering in their loyalty despite impossible circumstances. They had chosen to stand beside me against overwhelming odds, risking everything for friendship and principle. I felt extraordinarily fortunate to have earned such devoted allies.

Casper's practical mind turned immediately to future concerns, his question direct and purposeful.

"What course of action will we pursue now?"

My response came without hesitation, though the weight of responsibility pressed heavily upon my consciousness.

Now we will rebuild. Many lives were lost today, and substantial portions of the enclave lie in ruins. Recovery will require significant time and effort.

Barkatus, ever the realist, voiced the concern that occupied all our thoughts.

"This won't end here. The gods will return for you, probably with a much larger force and better preparation."

I nodded grimly, acknowledging the inevitable truth of his assessment.

I will be ready for them.

My thoughts turned to the starstone fragment now safely housed within my Arsenal, remembering how close Sedna's primitive spear had come to ending my existence. The implications were troubling; if the gods possessed more of this otherworldly material, their future forces would likely be equipped with starstone weapons throughout their ranks, not merely their champions.

Ten millennia ago, the Primordials had fallen easily to such weapons precisely because they lacked the intelligence to mount effective defenses. Machalaziel and his kin had been powerful but mindless, unable to strategize or adapt to the threat posed by starstone armaments. But unlike my predecessor, I possessed the gift of consciousness. I could think, plan, and prepare for future conflicts.

I examined my transformed body with critical assessment, noting both strengths and vulnerabilities. The thick dragon-headed tendrils were formidable weapons, but they remained exposed and vulnerable to starstone attacks. My pale flesh, while possessing Primordial resilience, could still be pierced by otherworldly materials.

I would need protection. I would need armor.

Against Primordial flesh, starstone represented the ultimate weapon: a material capable of cutting through our supposedly invulnerable forms like knife through paper. But against mundane materials such as steel, iron, or even properly treated bone, starstone was nothing more than brittle rock, no more dangerous than any other primitive tool.

Barkatus must have noticed something in my expression, because his face split into a knowing grin.

"You've got a plan brewing, don't you?"

I returned his smile with genuine warmth, feeling the first stirrings of hope for our future survival.

Indeed I do.

Without further explanation, I extended my tendrils and tore a hole in the fabric of space-time itself, the dimensional rift crackling with otherworldly energy. Both humans stepped back in shock, their eyes wide with amazement at this casual display of divine power. Arctur, having witnessed my spatial manipulation before, remained calmer but still impressed.

"Where are you going?" Arctur asked, curiosity evident in his voice.

I stepped toward the portal, my divine form radiating confidence and determination.

To retrieve something I had forgotten.

With a casual wave of my hand, I stepped through the dimensional gateway, leaving my companions behind as I embarked on a mission that would determine our chances of surviving the gods' inevitable return.

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