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Chapter 760: ElfMother God
“Octo-Armed Mother Goddess is none other than the great Queen Shahanii. She appears as a spider, yet possesses infinite kindness and dignity. I have been her most devout believer, offering everything to her—and she, in return, bestowed upon me her Divine Favor.”
“Praise the Octo-Armed Mother Goddess! Holy! Holy!”
“The first of her arms is the Hand of the Moon, capable of emitting moonlight, embracing the Earth. The second is the Hand of Night, able to brew darkness and bring deep slumber. The third is the Hand of the Future, weaving great webs to determine the fate of all beings. The fourth—ah, the fourth is the Hand of Chaos.”
The fallen Elf spoke with ecstatic pride, his voice trembling with fanatic fervor.
“What nonsense is this?”
“Just what kind of absurdity is this?”
The watching Silver Moon Elves furrowed their brows, murmuring in confusion. None of this made sense. In any age, their Mother Goddess of the Sacred Tree had never been said to possess eight arms—nor could she craft darkness or weave chaos.
“Spider Lady… Octo-Armed Mother Goddess… Weaver of Chaos.”
Catherine studied these strange titles carefully. Then, a chilling realization struck her. Her voice dropped to a whisper, laced with fury:
“It’s Queen Spider Ros. That dark deity dares to impersonate the Mother Goddess of the Sacred Tree! This is blasphemy—naked, unmasked blasphemy!”
Her eyes burned with wrath as she glared at the fallen Elf. “Don’t you see? There is no such thing as the Octo-Armed Mother Goddess in the Root! You do not worship the Moonlight Goddess—you serve a Dark Abyss Demon! A traitor from ten thousand years ago—the Queen Spider Ros!”
The fallen Elf roared back, struggling violently. “Impossible! You’re lying! I saw the sacred form of the Octo-Armed Mother Goddess with my own eyes, upon the Sacred Tree!”
With each writhing motion, cracks spread across his skin, oozing thick, dark red venom. Flesh tore with a sickening snap.
“Spines—!”
The Elf’s skin ripped apart completely. From the ruined husk crawled a half-human, half-spider abomination, screeching with a rasping cry as it lunged straight at Catherine.
“It’s beyond saving!”
“Kill this filthy monster! Guardianship His Majesty!”
Ria stepped forward, her silver sword slicing downward in a single, clean arc. The creature split in two. As the dusk-light flickered over it, black smoke curled from its severed body.
“Rest in peace, my kin,” Catherine said calmly, her gaze fixed on the shattered remains. Her voice was ice. “How bold you are—daring to replace the Mother Goddess of the Sacred Tree with a Dark Deity, twisting the minds of our people, corrupting their very flesh.”
“The elders… they’re even more vile, more despicable than I imagined. They no longer deserve to be called Silver Moon Elves. They’re nothing but cruel fiends!”
The Ancient Gold Dragon circled once, then landed with a thunderous boom beside the Elven Queen. It bowed slightly.
“Catherine His Majesty, righteous souls from across the world have gathered. We stand ready to support your reclaiming of the throne—so that you may become the true King of Serenya.”
Zhen, the King of the Shield Dwarves, rode in on a sheep-goat, laughing heartily.
“That’s right! Catherine His Majesty, those traitorous scum don’t even deserve to be compared to you!”
“I represent the Lute Players’ Alliance—our full support is yours!”
“By Heaven’s Mountain’s name—”
High above, a giant eagle circled, letting out a piercing cry. On the battlefield of wreckage, creatures of good alignment—Human, Dwarf, Elf, Dragon, Angel—gathered like stars around the Elven Queen, united in purpose.
The pure white unicorn stepped forward with graceful poise, stepping onto a bridge of rainbow light, and soared into the sky.
Catherine sat atop the unicorn, raising the Elf Scepter high. Her face, flawless and serene, now bore a look of iron resolve.
“People of Serenya—those elders have shamelessly betrayed us! They have surrendered to the Abyss, replacing our sacred faith with a Chaos-born Dark Deity. They’ve turned our people into half-human, half-spider monsters!”
“This is treason! Unforgivable treason!”
“Today, on this sacred ritual night, we shall reclaim the Sacred Tree. And the silver moonlight shall once again shine upon Serenya!”
With the strength of a divine spell, Catherine’s voice echoed across a hundred miles. Every Elf in half of Serenya heard her passionate words.
The wind stirred. Leaves danced. The forest trembled.
“By Shahanini’s name—how could those decaying wretches do such a thing? Daring to disguise a Dark Deity as our Mother God!”
“Mother God…”
“This is sacrilege!”
“Only Catherine His Majesty can restore Serenya to its true path! We must go to her aid!”
Those Elves who had long resented the Council now found their chance to rise in rebellion. They had grown weary of Serenya’s decay, its corruption, its pain—viewing the elders as enemies.
Through the thick forest, the Elves moved with practiced grace, evading the Sanctum’s sword patrols, converging upon Catherine’s side.
When they saw the grotesque remnants—the torn Elf skins, the repulsive spider-monster corpses—most believed her without doubt.
This wasn’t the Sanctum. It was a cult of filth, monsters infected by the Abyss!
The Silver Moon Elves raised their weapons high, chanting in unison:
“Serenya Lives Forever!”
“Catherine His Majesty Lives Forever!”
“Eradicate the vermin of the Elders’ Council! Eliminate the corrupt leaders of the Kingdom’s High Command! Let Catherine His Majesty rule!”
One Elf fell to his knees, weeping:
“Catherine His Majesty… please punish those monsters! My husband was lured in, forced to join that so-called Church of the Octo-Armed Mother Goddess!”
The Silver Moon Elves were a magically gifted race—naturally blessed, almost every one of them capable of becoming Rangers, Bow Warriors, Druids, or other masters.
As thousands poured in from across Serenya, Catherine’s army swelled rapidly—reaching fifteen thousand in no time.
For an Elf people, whose lifespans were long and population sparse, fifteen thousand was a formidable force. It was clear how deep their hatred for the Elders’ Council truly ran.
Seeing this, Ria smiled. “His Majesty, you see? I told you—my people across Serenya would stand with you.”
The Ancient Gold Dragon echoed, “Catherine His Majesty, it seems this holy uprising is already widely experienced.”
“You flatter me,” Catherine replied. “They’ve only endured the oppression of those filthy traitors for too long. I’m not proud of this—it breaks my heart. My only purpose is to overthrow the Elders’ Council and completely terminate their leadership.”
She nodded, her voice sharp and resolute:
“I will not betray the trust of my people. They’ve suffered enough hardship and pain. It’s time… to end this era of darkness.”
She raised the scepter toward the towering Giant Tree piercing the sky.
“People of Serenya—departure! Follow me, and reclaim the Sacred Tree!”
Before she even finished speaking, battle cries, roars, and triumphant shouts erupted into the heavens. The “Holy Alliance Coalition”—a mighty force of righteous beings from countless factions—marched forward in full formation toward the Bellwood Grove, advancing toward the Sacred Tree.
---
Serrynia, Enthel Palace
Perched at the very peak of the Spirit Saint Tree, this was once the Elven Queen’s palace—the ultimate symbol of power in Serenya.
But a thousand years ago, during a coup, the fifteenth queen, Fariti—deemed a tyrant—was overthrown. The Elders established new laws. Since then, the Elven Queen had become a mere figurehead, while the Council of Elders seized real control of Serenya, ruling over Elvenwood Forest.
Now, however, the high-ranking Elders sat upon thrones carved from the Sacred Tree’s limbs, faces grim, the air thick with tension.
Finally, Grand Elder Seron, seated at the highest throne, spoke—his voice low and gravelly, shattering the silence.
“Seryan has fallen. Our Sword of the Sanctum was utterly annihilated. Catherine has united with powerful forces—Lute Players’ Alliance, the City of All Arts, the High Mountain Dwarf Kingdom, and the Metal Dragon Race. They are marching toward the Sacred Tree.”
Hearing this, one Elder exploded.
“I told you she was a danger! We should have killed her long ago!”
“Who could have predicted this? We kept her only to pacify the lower Elves. And yet, that caged canary escaped! That gentle, obedient facade—it was all a disguise!”
“We underestimated her. No surprise. After all, she’s Fariti’s granddaughter—just as mad as that wretch.”
“Senior Elder Lai’an! You were in charge of guarding the royal line! How could she build an army right under your nose? You bear full responsibility!”
“Pointless now. Blaming each other won’t help. What matters is how we deal with the rebellion of the lowborn Elves, and how we face the Divine Wrath that will surely follow.”
The Elders bickered, cursed, and spat venom at one another—voices sharp, tense, and furious.
“Enough.”
Grand Elder Seron’s voice carried weight. The room fell silent.
Seron was known as “The Silver Leaf Speaker.” Rumor said he had lived for over a thousand years. He had once conversed with the Sacred Tree, maintaining the balance between nature and magic. Even now, though fallen, he remained the unquestioned authority among the Elders.
He shook his head slowly, sighing.
“They don’t understand. The Elders’ Council acted for the greater good. Queen Shahanii has slept for over a century. If not for our communion with the Octo-Armed Mother Goddess, Serenya would have burned to ash a hundred years ago.”
“Yes, we did it to protect Serenya. The deaths of the lowborn are but necessary sacrifices.”
“Grand Elder, we must purge the rebels completely. Eradicate the root! Sacrifice every disobedient Elf to the Octo-Armed Mother Goddess!”
“But she is the Elven Queen. By tradition—”
“Tradition? When the Council itself is crumbling, what good is tradition?”
The Elders erupted in outrage, as if they were the true victims.
“Then it seems we must seek the Mother Goddess’s protection. The next Sacred Sacrifice may begin.”
Seron raised his head, staring at the grotesque statue at the palace’s apex—a half-woman, half-spider figure. His eyes gleamed.
“This time… each clan must contribute one hundred sacrificial offerings.”
The Elders gasped. A cold chill ran through them.
Moments later, a sight too eerie to describe unfolded upon the canopy of the Spirit Saint Tree.
Silver Moon Elves were ensnared in thick webs, wrapped like giant cocoons, suspended upside down from the branches—like insects caught in a spider’s web.
Then came the sound—soft, countless, rustling. A swarm of black spiders crawled up the silk threads, pouring toward the hanging Elves.
In an instant, with a sound that made the skin crawl, the spider tide devoured some of the Elves—leaving only bloodstains and bone fragments.
Others remained still. The black spiders had burrowed inside, entering through nostrils, ears, eyes—creeping into their bodies, hiding within.
Strange… the branches of the Sacred Tree seemed to twist further, their bark softening. Cuts oozed blood, and the limbs swelled like human limbs.
Grand Elder Seron stood atop the altar, robes flowing. He spread his arms wide, his voice filled with piety.
“Holy! Merciful Octo-Armed Mother Goddess!”
“I offer Your offspring eternal glory—may their flesh return to Your divine body, their souls ascend to Your heavenly realm!”
He dropped to his knees, face pressed to the ground.
“But Mother God… some Elves still resist Your embrace. She is the tyrant’s bloodline, the Queen of Serenya, a traitor who conspired with foreign enemies.”
“Show Your might, oh Mother. Turn these lost souls back to You. Let them return to Your warm embrace… and become one of us.”
“Spines—!”
The skin on Seron’s back tore open as if cut by a sharp blade. Eight jagged claws burst through flesh, dripping blood, emerging from his back.
“Blood Sacrifice to the Mother Goddess!”
Seron screamed.
Behind him, the other Elders knelt, chanting in unison—a haunting, eerie symphony.
Some bore toxin sacs, others compound eyes, bristly hairs—each displaying grotesque spider traits.
In this unnatural prayer chant, the black spiders grew frenzied. Crimson compound eyes gleamed with hunger. They surged into the cocoons.
Toxic black mist filled the air—malevolent, oppressive. A chilling aura of dread spread across the sky.
And then—silence.
A grim figure materialized in the heavens.
A female Elf, her form full and shapely, draped in gauzy cloth, her face veiled—but always smiling, that smile unspeakably eerie.
But it was her eight arms that drew the eye—long, slender, each gripping a sharp dagger like a spider’s claw.
“Praise the Octo-Armed Mother Goddess!”
Seron looked up, entranced, eyes wide with ecstasy, arms raised as if witnessing a miracle.
The giant cocoons above burst open.
From within, monstrous half-human, half-spider creatures crawled out—slimy, grotesque, their forms twisted. They fell to their knees, immediately worshipping the figure in the sky.
“Praise… the Octo-Armed Mother Goddess.”
Seron repeated the words, staring at the abominations.
(End of Chapter)
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