Crossover: Monthly Character Templates in the Multiverse Chat Group — Chapter 89

Chapter 89: No Need to Resurrect Ancestors, I Shall Surpass Them!

The Feathered Serpent. The mighty Kukulkan.

They were once a terrifying Elder bloodline that ruled the harsh expanses of Sargon. Legends of their dominion still circulated among the isolated local tribes—tales of majestic beings who soared through the heavens, commanding the raw, untamed power of wind and lightning.

But that was the ancient past. Now, having been continuously degraded by the creeping infection of Originium and forced into fragile human forms, that legendary power existed only in the dust of buried history.

In the strict, grueling education Ho’olheyak had received since childhood, the Feathered Serpent was an untouchable, supreme existence. The legends of her ancestors were her pride, her religion, her very reason for breathing.

Yet, right before her eyes, the vision played out. An incredibly powerful Feathered Serpent Overlord, a god of the skies, was ripped from the clouds and reduced to crumbling charcoal in the burning grasp of a colossal, molten monster.

Her breath hitched. Her pupils dilated into thin slits. She could not accept it. She would not accept it.

“How is this possible?” Her voice trembled, cracking the composed veneer she always wore. “That was a Feathered Serpent!”

“The Feathered Serpent was never invincible.”

The sharp whistle of the kettle broke the heavy silence in the room. Frez calmly lifted it, the steaming water cascading gracefully into two porcelain cups. He pushed one across the table toward Ho’olheyak. “Elder Overlords were not infallible gods. Even the most powerful Feranmuts can be brought low by mortals when they bleed.”

It was a simple historical truth. The great beast Sui had suffered the same fate—heavily wounded in a cataclysmic clash with other Feranmuts, only to be hunted down and defeated by the ancestors of Yan and their mortal armies. And even then, a dying Sui had exacted a devastating toll on the Yanese forces.

Ho’olheyak stared at the rippling surface of her tea. “What was that monster?”

“A Diablo,” Frez replied, taking a slow sip. “The third-generation Lord of Fiends of the Sarkaz. Banisa, the Sun-Burner.”

Before a monster like Banisa, a Feathered Serpent Overlord—already suffering the first waves of Originium degradation—was nothing more than an oversized flying worm. Countless Overlords had been turned to ash in his wake.

“But the Diablos have no descendants left,” Ho’olheyak murmured, a bitter, self-deceiving smile touching her lips. “While the Feathered Serpents still remain. Besides, the technology of this land is skyrocketing. Even if the ancestors were resurrected in their prime, how many modern Columbian artillery divisions could they actually withstand?”

She wasn’t blind to the march of progress. She knew the era of gods was over. But seeing the absolute vulnerability of her ancestors in the ancient past shattered a fundamental pillar of her worldview.

She looked up, her golden eyes locking onto him. “Did you show me this memory just to rub this truth in my face?”

“No. I just happened to find this particular fragment,” Frez said, tapping the side of his head. “I have plenty of other historical records locked away in here. Do you want them?”

The Feathered Serpent Overlords had primarily been active before the era of Banisa. After the Sun-Burner’s reign, their numbers had been violently culled., the dark crown Frez possessed didn’t just hold the memories of Kollam and the previous Lords of Fiends; it contained Kollam’s deep insights, forged from wearing the crown for seven thousand years.

“I want them, Boss.” Ho’olheyak leaned forward. “I will resign from my current post, but I need an answer from you first.”

Beneath the table, her thick, scaled tail slithered forward, slowly wrapping around Frez’s ankle in a teasing, yet desperate grip. “Boss, my family has spent generations pursuing the shadow of the Feathered Serpent, while simultaneously searching for an alternative path to liberate us from this curse. Yet, every single time, we hit a dead end and return to the starting point. Can you give me an answer?”

Frez looked down at her. “Why pursue the ancestors? Why not surpass them?”

“Surpass?” Ho’olheyak burst into a frantic, mocking laugh, the sound hollow and devoid of joy. “Originium. The absolute source of our disasters and misfortunes. As long as it exists in our blood, we can never reclaim those powerful bodies or command the wind and lightning. Even our wings have degenerated into pathetic ornaments that can barely fan away the summer heat!”

As if to prove her point, the small, feathered appendages on her head twitched and flapped weakly.

It wasn’t just the Feathered Serpents. The degradation of the Elders was absolute. The Draco’s flames were no longer the fierce, city-melting infernos of old. The Pegasus’s light no longer shone as brilliantly as the sun. The Hippogryph’s wings could no longer shield an entire empire from the storm.

They had all been ground into the dust of history, leaving only a scattered handful of descendants. And even those survivors were fading. The Dracos were systematically hunted to near-extinction by the Aslan Royal Family, only for Victoria’s Aslans to slowly follow in their footsteps. Kazimierz’s Pegasi had been reduced to corporate knights, their noble bloodlines thinning with every generation. The proud Hippogryph Dynasty had been violently overthrown by the Ursus—a race they had once looked down upon as mere slaves.

“The staff in my hand is just a tool to mimic the power of the Feathered Serpent.” Ho’olheyak’s voice dripped with self-deprecation. “The ornaments on my waist are a pathetic attempt to replicate their wings. This specially woven clothing is designed to imitate their impenetrable scales. My entire way of doing things, my very existence, is just a desperate crawl to get closer to a ghost of the past. And you sit there and tell me I can surpass them?”

She pointed a sharp, manicured finger at her own temple. “In here is four hundred years of accumulated wisdom.”

To inherit the fragmented memories of her ancestors, she had been subjected to brutal surgeries since childhood, permanently altering the structure of her brain. Every waking moment of her life, she heard the whispers of the ancients echoing in her skull, preaching about the strength, glory, and lost bloodline of Kukulkan.

And the price for this ‘gift’? She would only live into her early forties. Just like her parents. Just like the rest of her cursed lineage. She had long since accepted her fate, fighting tooth and nail simply to fulfill the family mission before her clock ran out.

“Only four hundred years?”

Frez casually pointed to his own head. “In here is seven thousand years of transcendence.”

Ho’olheyak choked on her next words. Does this man even know how to hold a normal conversation?!

She took a deep breath, steadying her racing heart. “Who exactly are you?”

“I’ve already introduced myself,” Frez said, a dry, amused smile playing on his lips. “I am Frez. One of the Lords of Fiends of the Sarkaz.”

“Lord of Fiends… no wonder.” Ho’olheyak exhaled slowly, the tension leaving her shoulders. “No wonder you possess these impossible means.”

If he was the Demon King of Kazdel, it all made terrifying sense. The Sarkaz were universally despised and hunted across Terra, but they were undeniably one of the most ancient and resilient races in existence. Judging by the memories Frez had just projected, her ancestors and the Sarkaz had a blood-soaked history. In that barbaric, ancient era, slaughtering each other for supremacy was just another Tuesday.

“I will ask one last time, Miss Ho’olheyak,” Frez said, his tone shifting into something heavier, something that demanded an answer. “Will you follow me?”

“Of course.” Ho’olheyak stood up, her demeanor shifting from frantic desperation to elegant grace. “I have made up my mind, Your Highness.”

She stepped back and performed an ancient, flawless gesture of Sargon etiquette, bowing her head and offering her absolute loyalty to the man she would now serve.

“Good,” Frez nodded. “There are many ancient monsters still lurking among the Sarkaz. Some of them have lived long enough to personally witness the descent of your Feathered Serpents. If you can prove your value to me, I will help you obtain the power to surpass your ancestors.”

“The Sarkaz are truly… terrifyingly low-key,” she murmured.

For ancient monsters of that caliber to still be breathing in the modern era, the true depth of Kazdel’s power was unfathomable. Recalling the historical fragments, she realized that every time the Sarkaz were driven to the brink of extinction, it was usually by a massive coalition of allied nations. Yet, like a plague, they stubbornly rose from the ashes every single time.

This was a nation and a race that simply refused to die.

“Then, if a fragile junior like me enters Kazdel, will I be torn to pieces?” she asked, a playful lilt returning to her voice.

“Just don’t wander into the Vampires’ territory,” Frez warned lightly. “If you want answers about your ancestors, you could perhaps go ask the Nachzehrer King.”

“The Nachzehrer King? Niezlei?” Ho’olheyak’s eyes widened slightly. “There are actually records of him in my family’s inherited memories.”

Though, those records mostly consisted of her ancestors getting brutally beaten by him. Niezlei had waged war for centuries and devoured the corpses of countless races; it was highly probable he had fought and eaten a Feathered Serpent or two in his prime.

“Your Highness, I offer you my absolute loyalty,” Ho’olheyak said, her golden eyes gleaming with a new, dangerous ambition. “In exchange, I want access to those ancient Sarkaz records concerning the Feathered Serpent. If you can truly forge me into something greater than my ancestors, then my life, my body, and my remaining years belong entirely to you.”

Ho’olheyak had made her gamble. She would follow Frez into the abyss.

She would serve him until he fulfilled his impossible promise. If he failed, it didn’t matter anyway. She only had until her early forties. If the dead end remained, she would simply find a suitable man, bear a child, pass on the agonizing memories, and die before her time was up.

But what if he was right?

What if the day actually came when she could look down upon the gods of her past?