Champion Of Lust: Gods Conquer's Harem Paradise!

Chapter 285 The Fate No God Can Escape.

The weight of Zorynthar's warning pressed heavily on Drakos. Even after the god's towering avatar faded, the oppressive aura remained, coiling around him like an invisible serpent. He nearly staggered to his feet, his breath shallow and uneven. His mind raced, torn between panic and disbelief. God-Slayers. Phantoms.

It felt like the threads of his world had unraveled, leaving him clutching at empty air.

Zorynthar's voice still rang in his ears, sharp and venomous: "Drakos, not a word of what I just told you escapes your lips. If it does, I will know. And your family's fate will be sealed."

Drakos had flinched under that divine gaze, his resolve shattering like brittle glass. "I wouldn't dare, my lord," he had said, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew it was a lie, how was he supposed to keep such a big secret?

But he will try.

His hands tightened into fists, his nails biting into his palms. How could he not? The knowledge he now carried was too heavy to ignore.

Moments earlier, Zorynthar had loomed before him, his golden scales shimmering with an ethereal light. His voice carried the weight of a storm, each word a thunderclap.

"It's such a shame, Lucy Obsidian," Zorynthar had sneered, his lips curling into a cruel smile. The god's tone was mocking, but there was a flicker of something else beneath it—resentment. "What a waste. I would have loved for her to see her family's final end. This time, it will be the Ancients themselves who deliver the judgment. Not just one Ancient like before. All of them."

He had laughed then, a deep, guttural sound that echoed through the ancient shrine, shaking the Draconian Pillars. Dust fell from the ceiling in thin streams, the air itself seeming to shudder under the force of the god's amusement.

Drakos had remained silent, his head bowed. The mention of Lucy Obsidian felt like a slap to the face. She had been a legend, a shadow that loomed over every corner of the dragon empire.

A mortal who had dared to stand against the godsand an Ancient god—and paid the price for it.

"The stupid woman," Zorynthar continued, his amusement laced with bitterness. "She could have avoided her fate. She could have been my queen. Imagine that, Drakos—the great Lucy Obsidian, ruling by my side, the Great Zorynthar. But no. She chose defiance even when an Ancient God offered her such a favour. She chose death."

The god's laugh turned harsh, almost a growl, and Drakos felt the unspoken anger simmering beneath it. Zorynthar and Elemental Deity's pride had been wounded, and even after all these years, the scar still festered.

Drakos gritted his teeth, his thoughts swirling. 'So, not just the Elemental Deity, but even Zorynthar himself wanted her.' The idea was absurd, yet it made too much sense. Lucy's strength had been unparalleled, her spirit unyielding. 'The gods had desired her—but when they couldn't have her, they had destroyed her to save face.'

'It seems her doom was inevitable,' Drakos thought bitterly. 'Even if she survived Zorynthar's wrath, the Elemental Deity's humiliation would have crushed her. We mortals are always at their mercy.' The realization burned, a bitter truth he could neither deny nor escape.

Zorynthar's gaze had snapped to him then, sharp and furious. "Are you forgetting that I'm still here, Drakos?" the god had snarled. "You dare to think such things in my presence?"

Before Drakos could react, a wave of divine power slammed into him, hurling him into a pillar. The ancient stone shattered beneath the force, crumbling around him as he collapsed to the ground.

Pain exploded through his body, and the air was knocked from his lungs.

"You're nothing but a pest, all mortals," Zorynthar growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the chamber. "A mortal insect like you who should grovel at our feet. That is your fate. That is every mortal's fate. Even Lucy Obsidian couldn't escape it, and she was stronger than you'll ever be. You're a shadow in her wake. Nothing more, yet you dare to have such thoughts!"

Drakos coughed, blood spattering the stone beneath him. He struggled to rise, his body trembling under the weight of the god's presence. "Thank you for your mercy, Lord Zorynthar," he muttered, his voice hoarse.

But inside, his thoughts wanted to rebell. 'That mortal could have beaten you black and blue.' The defiant thought burned in his mind, dangerous and forbidden. He crushed it down, knowing that even a flicker of defiance could cost him his life.

Gods could read thoughts, after all.

Zorynthar's slitted eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Instead, he straightened, his towering form radiating an air of impatience. "Prepare your child," he commanded, his voice cold and imperious. "Your daughter Seraphina will receive my blessings as my champion. When the time comes, she will be my weapon in the mortal realm."

Drakos's stomach twisted. Seraphina. His fiery, headstrong daughter. Could she bear the weight of such a burden? Could she survive the wrath of a god if she faltered?

He wanted to protest, to beg the god to reconsider, but the words caught in his throat.

"And remember this," Zorynthar continued, his tone dropping to a deadly whisper. "For your family's wellbeing, sever all ties with the Obsidians. If Seraphina cannot let go of that boy to be my Champion—kill her. Disown her. Do whatever it takes to ensure that your bloodline is not linked to theirs. Do not defy me in this, Drakos. I will know. And you won't like my retaliation!"

The words hit like a dagger to the heart. Drakos clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. "Yes, my lord," he said, his voice hollow.

But he couldn't stop himself from asking, the question spilling out before he could think better of it. "Lord Zorynthar, forgive me if I overstep, but what do the Obsidians have to do with the God-Slayers? With the Phantoms?"

The chamber fell silent. Zorynthar's eyes darkened, a shadow passing over his face. For a moment, he said nothing, the tension in the air thick enough to choke on.

"It is a prophecy," the god said at last, his voice low and heavy. "A single Obsidian, destined to reunite the Phantoms. To free them from the Void and turn them against the gods themselves. That mortal... is a God-Slayer. An Obsidian said to be more powerful than all the past Obsidian God-Slayers. All of them!"

Drakos felt the blood drain from his face. The prophecy hung in the air like a death sentence. The Phantoms—beings of unimaginable power, bound by cosmic laws to serve the gods—were terrifying enough.

But if they were freed? If they turned against the divine order?

"But my lord," Drakos stammered, "aren't the Phantoms bound by the cosmic threads? They cannot disobey the gods."

Zorynthar's expression twisted into a grimace. "That is the problem," he said. "The Phantoms are still bound—but the gods can no longer summon them. We can no longer control them like before. And if this prophecy comes to pass..."

His voice trailed off, the implications too terrible to speak aloud.

Zorynthar straightened, his golden form shimmering as his avatar began to fade. "The Ancients have called a meeting to discuss this threat," he said. "Do not fail me, Drakos. You are my champion and so will your lineage. You are my descendants. Serve me well, and I will ensure your survival."

With that, the god vanished, leaving Drakos alone in the ruins of the shrine. For a long moment, he remained still, his body trembling and his mind reeling.

"Is it Emberly," he murmured, "or Pyris?" Her son was still a child, barely old enough to understand the world around him. It has to be Emberly. She's the Obsidian in the prophecy. It can only be her.

And yet, doubt gnawed at him. If the prophecy was true, then no one—god or mortal—would escape the storm that was coming. Discover more content at My Virtual Library Empire