I Become A Mob Character In A Novel

[Third Person's POV]

The elder looked at the fading image of Bathia in the scrying mirror with a mixture of anger and hate. His gnarled fingers gripped the edges of the ornate frame, knuckles white with tension. She dared to exploit the heart of 'that' god from him.

If she asked for anything from him, he would have given it freely, but this was different. Because it is the heart of a Death god, which in itself is special, As killing a god with dominion over death was a feat that transcended ordinary limits, the heart of such a deity was imbued with a unique and volatile essence.

The power contained within it was not just a force to be reckoned with but a catalyst for profound change—a change that could unravel the very fabric of reality if mishandled.

The elder's anger was rooted in more than mere pride. The heart of the Death god was the vital piece needed for the ritual to merge all the planes of the realm. Such an undertaking was fraught with peril and complexity, and its successful execution would reshape the world in ways beyond imagination.

He opened the chest again and placed the mirror in its designated spot. With a practiced hand, he adjusted a series of intricate mechanisms within the chest. The satisfaction of the clicking sound echoed through the chamber as a hidden compartment sprang open, A single item was revealed: a small, intricately carved obsidian box. The elder's expression hardened as he lifted the box with reverent care.

This is none other than the heart of the Death god itself.

The obsidian box was no ordinary container; it was crafted with ancient enchantments to keep the volatile essence of the Death god's heart contained. The dark, pulsating energy within seemed to resonate with the elder's own aura, a reminder of the power and danger it represented. This artifact was not only crucial for the ritual but also incredibly delicate.

Mishandling it could unleash forces beyond comprehension.

He carefully lifted the obsidian box from its pedestal, ensuring that his movements were deliberate and controlled. The weight of the box felt both ominous and substantial in his hands, and he could feel the faint, rhythmic thrum of the heart within as if it were alive and aware.

The elder's eyes narrowed with focus as he transported the box to a hidden alcove behind a secret door in the chamber.

Inside, a kneeled demon could be seen in a meditative posture, bound by intricate chains of binding magic. The demon's eyes, glowing with a fiery red hue, tracked the elder's movements with a mixture of curiosity and reverence. Its presence was both formidable and unnerving, a constant reminder of the dark power that surged through the chamber.

The elder placed the obsidian box on a stone pedestal in the center of the alcove, surrounded by a circle of ancient runes. He then turned to the demon, his expression one of grim determination.

"Deliver this box to Elder Bathia's place as soon as possible," the elder commanded, his voice low and laced with a menacing edge. "Ensure that it is protected by all necessary wards and enchantments. We cannot afford any mistakes."

The demon's eyes flared with an intense glow as it nodded in acknowledgment. It moved with fluid grace, its chains clinking softly as it took the obsidian box from the pedestal. The demon's every action was precise and deliberate, reflecting the gravity of the task at hand.

As the demon began to prepare for the journey, the elder turned his attention to the pathway leading underground, hidden behind an intricate stone door etched with runes of concealment. He walked towards it with a twisted smile on his face, the weight of his grim thoughts reflected in the somber light that filtered through the chamber.

The elder's path led him deeper into the labyrinthine depths of his stronghold, descending through narrow, twisting tunnels carved into the very bedrock of the mountain. The air grew colder and more oppressive with each step, heavy with the scent of ancient dust and the palpable aura of dark magic.

He finally arrived at a heavy, iron-bound door, its surface engraved with elaborate sigils of binding and suppression. The door creaked open at his command, revealing a chamber designed to hold and contain entities of immense power. Inside was a personal prison, a place of confinement and torment reserved for those who posed a threat to his plans or had failed him in some way.

The chamber was dimly lit, with flickering torches casting eerie shadows on the walls. Chains of enchanted iron hung from the ceiling, and dark runes were etched into the floor, forming complex magical circles designed to neutralize any escape attempts. In the center of the room stood a large, stone altar, upon which lay an array of mystical tools and artifacts used to interrogate and control.

At the far end of the chamber, a series of cells were built into the walls. Each cell was filled with faint, glowing runes that pulsed with an eerie light, ensuring that the occupants were thoroughly subdued and their powers restrained. The elder's gaze fell upon one particular cell, where a figure hunched in the corner, its presence cloaked in shadows.

The figure was none other than Naethasa Duskbringer, the queen of the Demon Continent and the mother of Raven Duskbringer, who had been a thorn in the elder's side for years. Her defiance and attempts to thwart his plans had earned her a special place in his private prison. Despite her imprisonment, she remained an indomitable force, her aura still crackling with latent power.

The elder's gaze lingered on Naethasa Duskbringer, who sat hunched in her cell, her long dark hair cascading like a veil over her face. Despite her imprisonment, the air around her crackled with a palpable aura of defiance and untamed power. The runes on her cell glowed with a soft, pulsing light, an attempt to suppress her formidable strength.

Naethasa looked up slowly as the elder approached, her eyes glowing with a mixture of anger and disdain. The flickering torchlight danced across her gaunt features, highlighting the strength that lay beneath her weariness. Despite her confinement, she carried herself with an air of regal dignity, refusing to be broken.

The elder, a figure shrouded in dark robes and exuding an aura of ancient authority, approached the cell with a calculated air. His face, carved with deep lines of age and power, remained impassive, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of disdain. He knew that Naethasa was not to be underestimated, even in her current state.

"You still cling to your defiance, even now," he said, his voice a cold, measured tone. "How fitting for someone of your stature."

Naethasa's gaze was unyielding. "You think you can break me, old man? You underestimate the strength of my will. You will never get to my daughter as long as I still draw breath."

The elder's lips twisted into a thin, cruel smile. "Your daughter's rebellion against me has only made things more complicated. But your spirit is admirable—almost as admirable as the wrath I plan to unleash. Your defiance is noted, but it will ultimately prove futile."

He stepped back from the cell, his gaze never leaving Naethasa. "It's sad, you don't have royal blood in your veins as you were married into the royal family. Otherwise, I wouldn't have require for your daughter, So one way or another it's you who is at fault for not having the power to make a difference."

Naethasa's eyes narrowed with a fierce, unyielding resolve. "Do what you will, but know this: even if you succeed, the price you will pay will be steep. There are forces beyond your understanding that will rise against you."

The elder's smile widened, a cold and calculating glint in his eyes. "You overestimate the strength of your allies. My plans are already set in motion, and nothing will stop them."

"Oh~ and I found the estimated location of your daughter, Kekekeke~" The elder's laugh was a dark, echoing sound that reverberated through the chamber. It was a cruel and mocking tone, designed to unsettle and provoke. Naethasa's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and fear at the implications of his words.

"What do you mean, you found her?" Naethasa demanded, her voice sharp and strained.

The elder's eyes gleamed with a malicious delight. "Yes, it seems your daughter has been rather conspicuous in her recent activities. She was sent to the Human Continent by your allied elder—the one who foolishly believed he could aid her escape. It seems she has become a pawn in a larger game. But don't worry; I will be sure to let you know her location at the appropriate moment.

For now, you have a more pressing concern."

He turned on his heel, his dark robes swishing with his movement. "Enjoy the company of your tormentors while you can. Soon enough, the time will come for your final reckoning. And I assure you, it will be an end worthy of the suffering you've inflicted upon me."

With that, the elder departed the chamber, leaving Naethasa alone in the dim light, her mind racing with the implications of his words. Her thoughts were a storm of dread and determination, both for her daughter and for the impending chaos that the elder's schemes would undoubtedly unleash.

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[To Be Continued]

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