GodWithWings
patreon
Ch 33 - The Prayer That Was Heard
🕑 Added 2025-06-04 18:35:57 +0000 UTC“I swear my soul to your name,” Roy shouted, his voice trembling but firmer than ever. “I don’t want an afterlife! Use me. Use every part of me, but save my family. Please, High Father… please!”
Even before his final words left his lips, something stirred in my divine realm. And beside Tekla’s star, a second one ignited - crimson and brilliant, far brighter than anything I had seen before. Its glow pulsed violently, as though it could barely contain what had awakened within it.
As Roy’s last word left him, the star’s core started to crack. There was no sound, no flash, just a silent fracture and a slow, steady release of power. Divine energy spilled from it, familiar yet far stronger than anything I had ever drawn upon.
I watched it unfold, frozen. The surge didn’t flow gently into me. It pressed down all at once - dense, blinding, and absolute. It wasn’t something I could guide or mold. It moved on its own, and I could only brace myself as it poured through every part of me.
And then, just as I began to grasp what was happening, the golden window flashed before my eyes.
[Congratulations, Verde!]
The requirements have been met - the soul of a devoted believer, offered willingly. The Crimson Guardian may now be awakened. The tree calls for you, ready to answer the prayers of those who believe.
Before making the decision, I wanted to understand what was happening, wanted to grasp the shape of it, analyze the current moving through me, but as I reached inward, I felt the surge begin to dim.
I won’t be able to conserve it.
The realization struck hard. Though the crimson star burned brightly within my divine realm, the energy bleeding from it wasn’t mine to command. It flowed through me, not because I had drawn it, but because something or someone had allowed it. And now, that flow was fading.
“Wake up, Orrvyn,” I called in a hurry, afraid that I would miss the chance.
I had just begun to feel the connection with the oak tree establish, when the divine energy granted by Roy, which surged through me moments ago, was suddenly pulled away like something beyond me was siphoning it directly.
And not just from me.
I watched as the crimson light drained from Roy’s star, leaving it hollowed and trembling. The energy gathered beside it, swirling in place before condensing into something new. A shape began to form.
It started with roots, long and far-reaching, disappearing into the clouds covering my realm. Then a thick trunk took shape, rising from the center like a pillar of living flame. Branches grew outward, leaves unfurled, and finally, my statue emerged in the bark, carved into its surface.
But even as the form stabilized, I knew something was missing.
The structure was whole, but it remained still. Dormant. Incomplete.
I looked again at Roy’s star and saw a faint red glow still clinging to its core - barely a thread, fragile and fading. I focused on it, and through that thread, his thoughts reached me. They were weak, fragmented, but unmistakable.
“Please, High Father... please save my family.”
He repeated it again and again, like a chant offered to some forgotten tribal idol. There was nothing in it but a raw and selfless plea.
I didn’t know if it would work. But I tried. I reached for him in the same way I reached Tekla.
“Your request shall be granted, child.”
The effect was instant.
Relief swept through him first, so powerful it nearly overtook him. Then came gratitude. Joy. And beneath it all, sadness - the kind that carves deep but leaves peace in its wake. His thoughts brushed against mine one final time.
“Thank you, High Father…”
And then the connection collapsed.
The last thread of red light broke away from Roy’s core and drifted toward the newly formed guardian. It joined the trunk gently like a final offering, and with that, the transformation completed.
Vivien’s eyes were locked on Roy’s body. He had stopped moving the moment his plea ended, whether from the offering or the blood loss, I couldn’t tell, and it didn’t matter to Vivien either. His color had already begun to fade, and warmth was leaving him with every second.
“Roy... how c-could you...” she choked out, the words fractured by the convulsions of mana backlash. Her body trembled, but she barely registered the pain. She wasn’t even looking at the spider closing in on her. Her focus hadn’t shifted once. All she could see was the man who’d thrown himself between her and death.
The spider was already beside her, limbs poised to strike, when the ground suddenly shook.
A low tremor rolled beneath the battlefield, steady and deep, like something ancient exhaling beneath the surface. The noise was subtle, but everything heard it. Spiders shrieked and recoiled, their senses catching what the eyes had not yet seen.
The Crimson Guardian had awakened.
Its bark groaned as the trunk twisted and stretched, the sound heavy like stone grinding against stone. The roots pulsed outward, while the branches above writhed in sudden movement. Crimson leaves tore free from their stems and scattered in all directions, caught in a wind that had no source.
And then the ominous stillness.
The Guardian stood motionless, towering above the tribe. It wasn’t simply watching, it was understanding. For the span of a heartbeat, the battlefield froze, as if the sentinel were taking in the full weight of what had occurred.
That silence broke violently.
Crimson roots erupted from the earth, weaving through one another with impossible speed, forming a thick lattice that wrapped around the wounded, the old, the pregnant. The net sealed shut like an unmistakable divide between those it had claimed and those it had rejected.
The Velmoryns embraced by the Guardian fell to their knees in reverence, heads bowed as they offered a prayer. But not all had been chosen. Those still bearing the silver markings, the ones who had refused the accept me, who had denied the god it served, were left outside.
The Guardian didn’t see them, it didn’t acknowledge them.
One of the older Velmoryns, face lined with age and pride, pushed forward, trying to force his way into the barrier. His hand touched the edge of the living net, and in that instant, a root lashed out. It struck with brutal precision, wrapping his waist in a coil and tearing him in two before his scream could even leave his throat.
There was no hesitation. No mercy. Only judgment.
Vivien didn’t react.
Her eyes were still fixed on Roy. Tears of blood ran down her cheeks, leaving a red mark behind. Her expression had twisted into something hollow and unreadable, caught somewhere between disbelief and finality.
“My love... how could you…” she whispered again, the words barely audible, more breath than voice.
She didn’t see the green pool forming beside her, the stinky blood of the spider still lingering.
She didn’t see the root that burst from beneath the spider’s body, impaling it from below and lifting it into the air above her.
The corpse hung there, suspended by a thick crimson root, swaying in the wind like a banner.
This was only the beginning.
With the settlement cleared of threats, the Crimson Guardian shifted its full attention to the battlefield beyond, where the Velmoryns were still locked in a losing struggle, barely holding on.
At the center of it all, the giant green spider remained locked in combat with Mirion, but it was no longer a battle. It was a slow collapse. The veteran Velmoryn wasn’t fighting to win anymore, he was simply trying to outlast the skill that had kept him alive this long.
Only Lily’s barriers had prevented him from being torn apart outright. They flared around him in bursts, intercepting strikes he couldn’t see coming and wouldn’t have tried to avoid even if he could. His mind was too far gone in the frenzy to care. He didn’t dodge. He didn’t flinch. He simply pressed forward.
The moment the Guardian awakened, the green spider’s behavior changed. It shifted uneasily, its limbs growing more erratic, more tense. Then it let out a piercing shriek, giving a new command. The swarm responded instantly.
Smaller spiders surged forward with renewed urgency, no longer preserving themselves, hurling their bodies forward as if casualties didn’t matter.
But the green spider didn’t charge, it took a step back instead.
It had sensed something. Something stronger. It was no longer focused on victory - it was focused on escape.
Mirion didn’t care.
His bloodshot eyes, half-hidden beneath swollen lids, stayed fixed on the creature. He saw it hesitate and pull back, which was like a signal to charge.
He forced himself forward.
Each step dragged, unsteady. His axe scraped against the ground. There was no elegance left in him. The power of Feral Surge was starting to fade, and his body was failing under the weight of everything it had been forced to ignore.
Still, he lifted the axe and swung.
The blade struck the spider’s chitin with a metallic clang, the crimson edge skidding across the shell without breaking through. His right arm hung limp, completely useless, and the strength in his left had all but faded. The attack had completely failed, without leaving even a shallow cut.
The spider screamed.
Not in pain, but in rage. The feeble, broken Velmoryn had dared to follow it. It stopped retreating and raised one of its front legs, aiming to crush him completely.
But the blow never landed.
Crimson roots burst from the ground and wrapped around the limb mid-swing, tightening like a snake trying to strangle its prey. The limb froze in place, locked by crimson cords.
The spider shrieked again, louder this time, trying to intimidate the thing that held it, but the Guardian didn’t care.
Realizing threats were useless, it spun its leg violently, trying to twist free of the roots. With a wet, tearing sound, the joint gave way. The limb tore loose, green blood pouring across the roots, steaming as it made contact.
Then it spat.
A thick glob of green slime, a concentrated fluid that melted through carapace and bone alike. I fully expected the Guardian’s roots to disintegrate on impact.
But they didn’t.
The slimy liquid splashed across them, bubbling against the bark, but the roots didn’t even pause.
The spider froze.
For a single, breathless moment, it hesitated as if confused that the attack hadn’t worked. As if it had no next move. Then the roots reached it.
They drove through its armor without resistance. One, then two, then five, piercing through the monster’s body from every angle, lifting it cleanly off the ground and holding it aloft above the battlefield.
Every spider on the field stopped.
They all saw and heard it.
Their leader screamed, suspended and helpless, limbs twitching like broken threads. Its body thrashed in the air, strings of green liquid spilling across the ground beneath it, but it couldn’t break free.
It hung there, likely still trying to command the swarm, ordering them to come, to rescue it, to obey. But the moment the smaller spiders caught sight of their leader struggling helplessly, they turned and ran.
The swarm fractured. Dozens scattered across the field, scrambling over one another in their desperation to retreat. Some were cut down mid-flight - the Velmoryns and the crimson roots chasing them through the blood-soaked grass, cutting them down without mercy. Others fled faster, finally reaching the mouth of the tunnel they had crawled from.
Most disappeared into the dark.
The Velmoryns didn’t dare follow underground. But the Crimson Guardian didn’t care. Its roots followed the swarm down, stretching deep into the tunnel’s narrow throat, lacing every inch of soil with divine reach before finally retreating.
And then every eye turned to the figure still hanging above the ground, the giant green spider that had brought chaos to the tribe. It remained suspended, impaled at every angle, twitching slightly as blood continued to drip from the open wounds in its carapace.
Its eyes were dimming now. The clarity faded. Its cries softened, breath by breath, until the final rasp left its mouth. It convulsed once and then went still.
The Velmoryns didn’t move. Some were frozen in place, blades still held, staring up at the thing they had believed invincible. Others had been lost to bloodlust, still butchering injured monsters that could no longer fight back. A few, scattered among the chaos, began calling for help.
For the priestess.
But Tekla was already running straight through the carnage, eyes locked on the slumped figure of Mirion. His body was broken. Torn. Barely holding shape. But she didn’t pause.
The moment she reached him, I felt the divine energy drain from me again, more than before. But I didn’t care.
Not because I needed to maintain my image.
Not even because I was trying to save a Gold-ranked warrior.
I didn’t care because of what I was seeing in front of me.
[Warning: Orvyn has slain a soul belonging to another god.]
[Warning: You’ve gained 10 Divinity Points.]
