Chapter 129: Ch 129 : The start of the bloody feud
The saying was ancient, a piece of mortal wisdom that had echoed through countless worlds: in the schemes of gods, mortals suffer. Sunny had always understood it as a concept, a distant truth from a novel.
Now, floating in the endless River of Time, he was watching it as a memory. The faith he spent to witness this history was a small price to pay for the horrifying clarity it provided. This was not a story; it was a lesson, written in the blood and tears for hundred thousand years.
This seeds of this bloody feud were sown just a few short years after the signing of the peace treaty. The old Gods honored their pledge with a heavy but sincere heart. The Demon Lords honored theirs as well, but in a way so twisted, so utterly manipulative, that it made a mockery of the very concept of peace.
They did not invade the worlds of the living, just as they had promised. Instead, their influence began to seep through the cracks of reality like a slow, creeping poison. From the very essence of their own malevolence, they each birthed a new demonic race, seven living plagues designed to be the perfect, power generators for them.
From Deimos, the Lord of Discord, came demons who were whispers in the dark, creatures that could turn a loving glance into a suspicious glare, and a minor disagreement into a bloody feud.
From Belial, the Lord of Lies, came demons with silver tongues, capable of twisting truth so perfectly that a victim would thank them for their own damnation.
Phobos unleashed demons of Fear, formless things that fed on paranoia, while the Lord of Despair birthed shadows that drained all hope.
Beelzebub’s children were a beings that spreaded Hunger everywhere, not just for food, but for power, for wealth, for more.
Ichor’s creations were a living Corrosion, and Maledictus spawned demons of Curses, weavers of plagues and misfortune.
These seven races were unleashed upon the multiverses, their only purpose to corrupt, to divide, and to harvest the suffering of mortals, sending a river of power back to their creators.
Sunny watched one such tragedy unfold on a small world. He saw two brothers, their faces etched with the grief of their recently passed parents, standing over a map of their family’s land.
"Brother, why did you do this?" the older one whispered, his voice trembling. He looked down at the dagger buried in his stomach, then up at the face of his younger brother, the one he had taught to walk.
"You took the larger portion," the younger brother replied, his face a mask of cold fury. There was no guilt in his eyes, only a chilling certainty.
A Lie-Demon’s whisper had been his only counsel for weeks, telling him that his older brother had always looked down on him, had always seen him as lesser. "What did you expect me to do?"
From a tear in reality that only the younger brother could perceive, a Discord-Demon hissed, its voice like scraping stone. "You did the right thing. He disrespected you. Now, finish the job. His family shares his greed. They are part of this betrayal."
"Yes... I didn’t do anything wrong," younger brother repeated, the words a hollow mantra. He entered his brother’s house. He saw the faces of his young niece and nephew, their eyes wide with confusion. For a fleeting moment, tears pricked at his own eyes, a ghost of the man he used to be. But the demonic whispers were louder than his conscience.
"I didn’t do anything wrong," he whispered again, standing over the still bodies of his brother, his sister-in-law, and their six children. The tragic scene fed a minuscule trickle of power back to the demonic realm, a single drop in an ocean of malice, but a drop nonetheless.
Across the cosmos, Ichor roared with laughter. "This is the right way, Deimos, you are a genius!" he bellowed, as he watched one of his corrosive plagues dissolve an entire planet at the edge of a distant multiverse, a place where the God’s vision was weakest. The world didn’t die in fire and fury, but in a silent, bubbling sludge, its oceans turning to acid and its mountains crumbling to gray dust.
"This is just the start," Deimos’s calm, chilling voice echoed in the minds of the other Demon Lords. "In a hundred thousand years, we will be strong enough to crush them like ants."
Sunny watched another world fall, this one to a more insidious attack. A plague, born from a Curse-Demon, swept through the population like a wildfire. It was a disease that didn’t just kill the body; it attacked the mind.
The Despair-demon followed in its wake, amplifying the grief, while the Fear-demon turned every shadow into a monster. The lifeforms died like flies, their last moments not of peace, but of pure, undiluted terror.
The Demon Lords’ strategy was flawless. They targeted the weakest Gods, the ones whose multiverses were small and isolated, far from the central powers. Their demonic children were the perfect tools, their actions too subtle and scattered for the Gods to notice until it was too late, and even if they notice it, they wouldn’t know that it was a doing of the demons.
In the heart of the demonic realm, in a fortress carved from a single, mountain-sized obsidian stone, Beelzebub and Phobos played a game of chess. The pieces were not wood or ivory, but the trapped, screaming souls of fallen lifeforms.
"My race just devoured another planet," Beelzebub rumbled, moving a soul-pawn forward.
"The rook moves diagonally, Beelzebub," Belial, the Lord of Lies, said with a charming smile as he appeared beside the board, casually nudging a piece into a checkmate position.
"Do you think your power is the only one growing?" Beelzebub said, not even looking at Belial. With a single thought, he reverted the board to its state before the cheat. "You are forgetting I am also getting stronger with each passing second. Your lies wouldn’t work on me"
"You are no fun," Phobos rasped. "At least you could have agreed to the lie, like Deimos would have."
"He is just too cunning," Beelzebub replied, a hint of admiration in his voice. "This plan of his... I believe it will make these Gods kneel before us and beg for mercy."
Far from the game, Deimos sat on his own seat, his eyes closed. He could feel the threads of discord weaving through the cosmos, the sweet symphony of chaos growing louder with each passing moment. "My power is increasing, better than all the other demons, but it’s still not upto to my expectations," he mused. A slow, cruel smirk spread across his face.
"Perhaps... it will increase when Gods themselves would join this little game of mine." He knew that the true, exponential surge in his power would only come when the divine beings themselves began to turn on one another. The discord of mortals was an appetizer. The discord of Gods would be the main course.