The Forgotten God

Chapter 8: Ashes of Wrath

The air itself trembled.

The plaza was no longer the center of a proud settlement but a battlefield, its cobblestones split by cracks glowing faintly with infernal red light. The aftermath of Kaelen’s injury, the fury of the monstrous maw that had nearly consumed them, and the unshackling of something buried within Veythar had collided into this single moment.

And in that moment, Wrath awakened.

Veythar’s body shook, not from fear, but from the sheer magnitude of the energy coursing through him. His veins burned like molten steel, his vision painted crimson as though every living thing were nothing more than kindling waiting to be burned. He could feel his heart hammering not inside his chest, but in the air around him—each beat sending a pulse that rattled windows and toppled weakened walls.

The townsfolk who hadn’t fled earlier collapsed where they stood, clutching their ears or choking on the heaviness of the atmosphere.

And across from him, smiling with grotesque delight, stood Greed.

The Disciple’s mouth curled unnaturally wide, teeth glistening as he clapped slowly. “Yesss… yes, that’s it. Show me, Veythar. Show me the divinity you hide under that fragile flesh.”

His golden eyes shimmered with hunger, not for flesh, not for blood, but for ownership, he wanted Veythar’s very essence.

“Stay away from him!” Kaelen’s voice cut through the haze. She was still wounded, her left arm slick with blood from the earlier clash, but her eyes held defiance. Her hand pressed against the hilt of her sword, though she knew she could not match the magnitude of what was awakening in Veythar.

Veythar did not answer. He could barely recognize her voice. His chest heaved, his lips parted, and a guttural word clawed its way out:

“Igram.”

The ground answered.

With a sound like stone splitting under a hammer, spikes of molten rock burst upward, forming a jagged wall between him and Greed. Flames licked their edges, turning stone into glass as the heat rose to a blistering height.

Greed did not flinch. Instead, he leaned forward, inhaling deeply as though savoring the scent of c*****e. Then, with a flick of his hand, the shadows at his feet stretched, weaving themselves into golden chains that slithered across the ground. They coiled around the stone spikes and shattered them, reducing Veythar’s creation to rubble.

“Marvelous,” Greed hissed. “Do it again.”

Veythar roared. Not a cry of a man, but of something greater, an echo of the divine Wrath he carried. The sound knocked dust from the rooftops. His body moved before thought could temper it, fists clenched as scarlet energy erupted around him.

With a single bound, he was upon Greed. His fist crashed forward, wreathed in flame.

Greed raised a hand lazily, but when the blow connected, the smirk on his lips faltered. The sheer force sent him skidding back, gouging trenches into the earth beneath his heels.

Blood spilled from his mouth, and he licked it greedily. “Yes… YES! That is the power I seek!”

Veythar’s incantations spilled without restraint, raw and broken fragments of language meant only for destruction.

“Igram, sunder flesh and stone! Igram, ignite the heavens!”

Each utterance twisted the world. Firestorms spiraled downward. Lightning bled red instead of white, striking so fiercely that entire buildings collapsed. The air smelled of scorched metal and seared flesh.

Greed laughed as he dodged, though each near miss left a scorch along his robes, each shockwave forcing him further onto the defensive. Yet, he was not afraid. No, he was drinking it in, every strike feeding his insatiable hunger.

Then, with a guttural whisper, Greed spoke his own stolen incantation:

“Igram.”

Veythar froze mid-swing. His own flames erupted not only in his hand but in Greed’s, as the Disciple mirrored his magic, twisting it into a shadowed version of itself. A blast of black fire surged outward, colliding with Veythar’s own, the impact sending shockwaves that shattered glass across the city.

The mimicry cut deep, not just into the battlefield, but into Veythar’s focus. His spells were not his own anymore. Anything he spoke, Greed could take, distort, and reflect.

Wrath snarled inside him, demanding more, demanding escalation.

And he obeyed.

But kaelen intervene shouting the word

“Veythar!”

The voice pierced through the crimson fog of Wrath. Kaelen, struggling to stay upright, raised her sword skyward. Blood dripped from her arm, but her lips whispered words not of fire, but of restraint.

“Sileth, bind the raging flame.”

Rings of pale light burst into existence, coiling around Veythar’s arms and chest. For the briefest instant, Wrath’s aura faltered, his human eyes flickering back to clarity.

Through the smoke and fire, Kaelen’s gaze met his. “Don’t lose yourself. Not now. Not to him.”

He staggered. The fury inside him rebelled, clawing at his ribs, demanding release, demanding Greed’s annihilation. Yet Kaelen’s voice held him tethered, like a single rope binding a raging beast.

Greed tilted his head, mockingly curious. “How tender. She’s the chain around your neck, isn’t she? A leash. How very… human of you.”

His smirk widened. “Good. When I take what is yours, I will take her too.”

That broke the tether.

Veythar bellowed, Wrath flooding back, tearing the bindings as though they were threads. His aura exploded outward, a wave of destruction that forced Kaelen back and drove Greed to his knees.

The ground split open. Fire surged from the cracks. The town was dying with every heartbeat.

Greed retreats.

For the first time, Greed frowned. Not in fear, but in realization. Wrath was not something he could yet consume. Not now. Not in this state.

But oh, how he wanted it.

He staggered upright, the chains of gold unraveling and dissolving into smoke. His wounds shimmered faintly with self-healing, but his eyes blazed with unfulfilled hunger.

“Magnificent,” he whispered. “Too much for now… but not forever.”

He began to sink into the shadows, his voice carrying across the ruined square as his body dissolved.

“I will return, Veythar. And when I do, your Wrath will be mine. I will own it. I will own you.”

His laughter echoed even after his form vanished, lingering like poison in the air.

Silence fell.

The only sounds were the crackling of fire and the muffled cries of survivors pulling loved ones from rubble. The proud town had been broken, walls scorched black, homes reduced to rubble, lives lost.

Veythar stood at the center, chest heaving, hands trembling. Blood dripped from his knuckles but not his own, but that of the innocents caught in the storm.

He stared at them, and for the first time, Wrath did not feel like power. It felt like a curse.

Kaelen stumbled to his side. Her hand, though weak and trembling, rested on his shoulder. “It wasn’t you,” she whispered. “It was him. It was Greed. Don’t carry this alone.”

His eyes met hers. In them, he saw no judgment, no fear, only conviction.

But before he could answer, a distant rumble rolled across the horizon. The ground quivered. The air thickened.

Another presence had stirred. One that had felt Wrath’s awakening.

The battle with Greed was over, but the war had only just begun.