Chapter 2

His composed demeanor and confident stride were nothing short of heroic. This surreal scene of him walking alone toward the giant was worthy of the heroic tales she’d heard since childhood. Could he truly be that great hero? Tears welled up in the old woman’s eyes.

The man stood before the altar. The god, towering like a mountain, looked down at the small human on the golden platform. A brief moment passed in still, heavy silence.

The giant moved. With ease, it seized the man in one hand. The largest man in the prison was swallowed whole like a tiny snack. The giant’s throat moved with a powerful gulping sound. Quite literally, he was devoured in one bite.

What a lunatic…

After all that posturing as a hero… The old woman’s eyes turned cold. Dying like that—it was so disgraceful, it might even shame a soul from returning to their god.

At the priest’s lead, the zealots raised their hands and sang. The hymn told of the birth of the Five Giant Gods and their glorious deeds. It proclaimed how the youngest giant god killed his older siblings, claimed their divinity, and was reborn as the most perfect of all gods.

Zealots entered the prison with nooses to take the next sacrifice. Their eyes were glazed over, mouths dripping with saliva—effects of the hallucinogenic herbs they’d been burning nonstop outside. Perhaps dulled even to guilt, they just grinned at the crying children.

The old woman stepped forward, leaving the children behind. As she braced herself for death, the giant let out a thunderous sound like rolling storm clouds and opened its mouth.

“A divine revelation!”

“O great god!”

Everyone hurriedly prostrated themselves. Even the zealots inside the prison followed suit.

Then, the giant made a strange noise. 

“Ugh.”

It was odd enough that even the priest, head pressed to the ground, couldn’t help but glance up.

“Urgh… gahh…”

The giant staggered, grabbing onto the golden altar. Like a beast about to vomit, its body lurched, and its throat convulsed. Then—

Boom! A sound like an explosion rang out. In an instant, the giant’s head was blown away, as if hurled back by some enormous force. Splat! A fountain of blood burst from the severed neck, soaking the white and gold-clad followers in crimson like a downpour of thick rain.

Crash!

The giant’s severed head fell from the sky and crashed down, crushing a group of devoted zealots who had vowed to die for their god. A dozen or so were killed instantly. The swaying torso collapsed onto the golden altar, staining it deep red. Blood overflowed down the golden path, sticky and thick.

Silence fell over the scene.

From within the giant’s severed neck, a man emerged, drenched in blood from head to toe. He washed his face with the sacred water offered on either side of the golden altar. Unsatisfied, he grabbed a massive jug and poured it over his head. Bits of flesh, blood, and viscous bodily fluids were rinsed away.

He shook the water from his hair and gave the giant’s massive corpse a light kick, sending it sliding off the altar with ease. Then, he sat comfortably atop the blood-drenched golden altar, gazing down at the stunned crowd. In that moment, the sacrifice on the altar had transformed into a god enthroned above the heavens.

***

The Founding Festival of the Grand Temple was in full swing. As the largest national event and celebration, it had drawn countless people to the sacred city of the Allied Forces of Thul’mor. Leaders from all thirty-five member factions, citizens from across the continent, foreign dignitaries, and even spirits from nearby forests had been drawn in by the joyous songs of the festival.

Towering over the white gabled roofs of the Grand Temple was a colossal tree, welcoming visitors to the capital. It was the sacred tree gifted by the Great Mother Goddess in ancient times, and the proud symbol of the Allied Forces of Thul’mor.

Beneath its soaring boughs, people dressed in white enjoyed the grand festivities. Children sang songs while swinging wooden swords, reenacting tales of Gart, the strongest hero on the continent, Anir of Olkiedpan, the frozen land. 

Minstrels filled every alleyway, performing songs that told the life story of Gart. They knew it was the tale that drew the biggest crowds. At stalls scattered throughout the city, portraits of various heroes were sold alongside retellings of their great exploits. Among them, Gart’s portraits sold the most. Curiously, each store displayed a different version of his appearance. While his hair was always black, its style varied from short curls to long straight locks, even neatly cut bob-length hair. His age also shifted—some depicted him as a youthful boy, others a middle-aged man, and some as an elderly figure with graying hair. Occasionally, he was even shown as a woman. Because he never removed his helmet, even during his few public ceremonies, almost no one knew what he truly looked like.

In the plaza, a play dramatizing Gart’s battle with the giant god was underway. The crowd was so thick there was barely space to move. Children and elders alike watched with shining eyes. The story focused on the giant god Libal, recently deemed the greatest threat to the Allied Forces of Thul’mor.

Libal was one of the few regions steeped in remnants of the “Void”, plagued by monsters and deranged gods. The Five Giant Gods of Libal had once purged these beings and purified the land. Their fame spread even to distant islands, and many races came to revere the giant gods, seeking shelter under their divine protection. Had it ended there, their tale would have remained a beautiful myth. But everything changed a hundred years ago. The youngest of the giant gods murdered his four elder siblings and absorbed their divinity.

Empowered, the giant god Libal slaughtered nearby guardian deities, spirits, and countless living creatures.

Despite this, his following only grew—thanks to his power to turn stone into gold. Blinded by that radiant wealth, people willingly sacrificed their own kind in pursuit of luxury and splendor. The resulting cult became a massive force, causing widespread destruction across the continent, including within the Allied Forces of Thul’mor.

At a major summit attended by thirty-four of the thirty-five faction leaders, the subjugation of the giant god was officially proposed. Though each attendee had defeated dozens, if not hundreds, of monsters and gods, the mood was grim. Their foe had absorbed four divine essences, becoming an even greater monstrosity. Armed with divine might, the giant was beyond the reach of most heroes—or even other gods. The existence of thousands of fanatics only worsened the odds.

This was no problem a few heroes could resolve. It was no mere clash of divinity, but a full-blown war between Libal and the Allied Forces.

And just as fear gripped the continent, news spread: the giant god had been slain.

The feat had been accomplished by Gart, the one faction leader absent from the summit—the Anir of frozen Olkiedpan. The hero’s already-illustrious name shone even brighter.

The festival’s play, too, was a dramatized retelling of Gart’s battle with the giant god. Though it was exaggerated and unreliable, woven together from tales passed along by wandering bards, nothing entertained the crowd more.

“Hear me, the giant god Libal! I, Gart, lord of frozen Olkiedpan and protector of mankind through the sacred tree bestowed by the Great Mother, will end your evil once and for all!”

A man in a black wig and a giant puppet twice his size danced a dazzling sword fight to portray the battle. Inside a prison set, sacrifices sang, “Ooh—just looking at you fills us with dread. Hero, punish that monstrous god!”

At the song’s end, the giant puppet fell backward with a thud. The lead actor, now painted with red dye, whispered solemnly, “Though I’ve saved the sacrifices, my heart aches for the countless lives lost to the vicious god. But now, at last, peace may come to Libal. Great Mother Goddess, please rejoice with us.”

A beautiful woman playing a freed sacrifice rushed out of the prison. “Could it be… You are the Anir of frozen Olkiedpan? Slayer of the black dragon of the Rutda Empire and the nine-headed beast of Faldoa?”

“I am.”

“How can I ever repay this grace?”

The hero shook his head with a wistful smile. “It was simply what had to be done.”

“Oh, how noble and magnificent you are—just like the stories!”

“Then I shall take my leave.”

The woman grabbed the hem of his robe in a panic. “Where are you going without even tending to your wounds? The battle with the giant god must have left you injured!”

The hero looked skyward, as if gazing upon the face of the Great Mother Goddess, and smiled gently. “Wherever I am needed, I must go.”

The woman wept. The freed sacrifices danced and sang in joy, “O guardian of the sacred tree, born of the frozen land, deliver us and our tormented world!”

The hero raised his sword high, turned, and descended from the stage. His cloak fluttered in the wind—a scene as grand as any painting. The crowd erupted in cheers and applause.