https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-832-Awakening-in-the-Volcanic-Depths/13677774/
https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-834-The-Beast-Trapped-in-the-Mire/13677776/
Chapter 833: Deep Crimson Embers
At last, the Ancient Red Dragon emerged fully from the Lava Pool. Magma, thick and filthy like congealed blood, poured down his colossal, mountainous form. His scales gleamed like molten metal freshly pulled from a forge—rippling with the liquid fire of an eternal flame, shimmering under the searing heat that warped the air into a shimmering distortion.
The sheer shadow cast by his massive body consumed vast swaths of the burning land in an instant.
Then, with a sudden surge, the Ancient Red Dragon raised his head. The maw of his dragon’s mouth yawned wide, revealing a core of compressed brilliance—white-hot, blinding, impossible to gaze upon.
"ROOOOAR!"
Flames erupted from his spines, piercing the sky. The thunderous roar shattered the silence, echoing like a war drum across the cavern. The molten lava in the pool instantly concaved under the shockwave, then erupted into a towering wave over thirty meters high. Rock fragments rained from the walls, crumbling midair and melting into crimson droplets before they could hit the ground.
The entire space trembled, groaned, and screamed in agony beneath the force of the Dragon’s cry.
Even as the after-shock of the roar still ripped through the scorching air, the Dragon slowly lowered his head. His massive, dark-golden eyes now clearer than ever, scanned the river of molten lava winding through the cavern, the jagged black pillars that rose like broken teeth. In their depths, the faint glow of dying embers flickered—like the last breath of a world’s fire.
The Dragon gazed upward, then slowly lowered his head. His broad chest rose and fell, each breath a deep, tectonic pulse echoing from the earth’s core. His jaws parted slightly, and a low, rumbling growl spilled forth—like thunder rolling beneath the world’s crust.
That sound, ancient and indifferent, cut through the boiling chaos of the lava with eerie clarity:
> “As you command, Queen Tiamat. It seems… the final plan must be enacted. Fear not. Soon, that traitor’s body shall be yours. And the Feiansuo Continent—nay, the entire Material Plane—shall kneel before your arrival.”
The glow of molten lava danced in his eyes. Deep within those dark-golden irises, the Will of Annihilation spread like a creeping infection, consuming his mind.
"ROOOOAR!"
The Ancient Red Dragon roared once more, head thrown back. The earth convulsed violently. The long-dormant volcanic range burst into life, awakened by the tremor. The sky turned blood-red. Magma surged like a churning ocean from the cracked earth, cascading down mountainsides, carving jagged scars into the land. It flowed like the bloodline of the world itself, winding through valleys and gorges, consuming everything in its path with unbearable heat.
Volcanic ash rose in a suffocating storm, spreading with apocalyptic speed. It blanketed the sky, a shroud of gray so thick it choked the sun. Thousands of ash particles drifted through the air, draping the world in a veil of despair.
Beyond the Pakaya Volcano, the people stared up in horror at the sky now choked with ash, at the rivers of molten lava pouring from the earth. Panic erupted.
“The Gods! It’s the End! The Day of Extinction has come!”
“Is this the punishment of the Sun God?”
“By Amanata!”
“The magma’s coming! Hurry!”
But amidst the chaos, a man wrapped in bandages stood motionless, his face etched with despair as he stared into the ashen sky.
A man nearby grabbed his shoulder, voice frantic:
“Raymond! What are you waiting for? You’ll be burned to ash if you stay!”
“Leave?” Raymond laughed bitterly. He tore off the bandages, revealing skin marred by grotesque, blistered burns.
“Let’s face it… we’re already dead. We can’t run.”
He looked up at the darkened sky, where, through the veil of ash, a vast and grim silhouette loomed—silent, terrible, eternal.
“It’s him. Deep Crimson Embers… Kazul.”
“Kazul?” The name struck the crowd like lightning. Faces paled. Fear and dread froze their souls—like hearing the final tale of a nightmare.
Deep Crimson Embers Kazul—the third of the Three Dragon Gods of the Dragon Worship Church. A favorite of the Five-Colored Dragon Queen. The most powerful, the most brutal of all her followers.
Years ago, during the merciless Tri-Emperor Confrontation, the Kingdom of Seleucus—weak in strength—was pushed back relentlessly by the ferocious offensives of Thrace and the Cassander Kingdom. Hundreds of kilometers of territory were lost. Their armies were annihilated by the Titan Divine Offspring.
In that moment of despair, Kazul appeared.
Leading the remnants of Seleucus’ soldiers, he fought with unmatched ferocity. With strength that defied reason, he turned the tide—sieging cities, reclaiming them in mere days. In less than two weeks, he recaptured over a hundred towns and repelled the northern Cassander forces.
From that day, Kazul became a legend. King Philippe Aragon himself ennobled him as Marshal, and the people hailed him as The Chosen One, Descended from Heaven, The General of Divine Favor, and Angel of Victory.
But after glory, Kazul did not humble himself. He claimed the title of The Chosen One for himself, founding a cult—The Chosen God Sect—declaring himself the savior of the world, the next Deity. Thousands flocked to him.
This sect would become the very foundation of the Dragon Worship Church.
Strangely, King Philippe did not stop him. Instead, he stood behind Kazul, lending his support. The cult flourished.
Then came The Day of Ashes.
Under the blazing sun, over a hundred thousand followers of the Chosen God Sect gathered outside Sunset City. They built a towering altar, chanting hymns in frenzy, shouting the name of Kazul with ecstatic fervor.
And then—on the peak of the altar—Kazul revealed his true form.
A monstrous, terrifying Ancient Red Dragon, his wings slowly unfurling. He rose into the sky, silent and terrible, as the earth trembled.
Magma erupted from the ground. Ash and dust clouds roared into the sky, blotting out the sun. That day, screams echoed across the land. Lava flowed everywhere. The earth became an ashen wasteland. Countless lives were consumed by scorching magma, reduced to charred skeletons.
It was a grand ritual.
The phantom image of Tiamat hovered in the sky, greedily devouring the souls and faith of the people. She poured down frenzied, evil divine light, bestowing upon Kazul a pulsating Heretic Dragon Heart—a relic forged from the combined spiritual essence and life force of tens of thousands.
Without hesitation, Kazul swallowed it. He roared to the heavens, his wings spreading wide. In the wails and roars of the dying, he evolved—becoming a being near-godlike, truly divine.
From that day on, a vast plain of molten lava and ash formed beyond Sunset City. It was called the Dead Wasteland, the Ashen Plain.
And Kazul earned his name—Deep Crimson Embers.
To this day, the sky above the Ashen Plain remains dim, veiled in thin ash. In southern Seleucus, Kazul has become a symbol of fire, ash, and death. A name whispered in fear. A taboo.
And now—people were witnessing, with their own eyes, the awakening of the forbidden.
Raymond stared into the void, his eyes empty. He laughed, then wept. Then whispered:
> “It was inevitable. Maybe I should’ve died in that disaster years ago… Nancy, Meg… perhaps we’ll meet again in Purgatory.”
> “The Day of Ashes…”
Beside him, an old man stood frozen, trembling. His face pale as bone, his legs rooted to the ground. He remembered the lament from Sunset City, and whispered it, voice shaking:
> “Before Deep Crimson Embers… all are equal in death.”
“Run!”
“Damn it! The magma’s spreading!”
“BOOM!”
A muffled thunderclap split the air. The ground before them split open, and a torrent of molten lava erupted—cutting off every last escape route.
Raymond knew it didn’t matter. The only difference now was when death came.
He gave a wry smile, pointing to the sky.
> “It’s useless. Don’t struggle. That’s Deep Crimson Embers Kazul. Right now, the only thing we can do… is pray to Amanata. Pray for a miracle.”
> “Great Eternal Lord of Light… grant us aid. Deliver us from this doom…”
Hands clasped, the people turned upward, praying for salvation—the sun to pierce through the ash, for light to return.
But the only answer was the howling gale, the rumbling earth, and the endless, suffocating storm of volcanic ash.
No miracle came.
The sleeping Sun God had abandoned this land.
Now, Seleucus lay beneath the shadow of the Crimson Dragon.
Then—magma surged forward, raging across the wilderness. It melted the earth, devouring everything in its path. Like a pack of frenzied beasts, the rivers of lava roared, hissed, and consumed the helpless humans.
On distant rocks, Red Dragon Sect cultists in dark crimson robes watched, eyes wild with ecstasy.
> “It has come! The One Day is finally here! Praise Kazul! Praise Tiamat! Ash veils the sky, lava submerges the land—And the great, supreme evil, the Mother of Monsters, shall descend upon the world upon mortal bones, ushering in the New Era of Dragon Rule!”
Flames raged. Smoke and ash surged like a living storm, reducing everything to ash. The cultists spread their arms, welcoming death with euphoric joy, letting the lava consume them.
This was not just destruction.
It was a curse.
It was a blessing.
According to the Church’s teachings, their souls would ascend to the heavens, transforming into noble dragons in Tiamat’s divine realm—eternal, blissful, immortal.
Within half a day of Kazul’s awakening, hundreds of miles of land were swallowed by lava. The sky was choked with ash. The sky darkened. The earth overturned. A true picture of The End of the World.
In the south of Seleucus—Sunset City.
The Eternal Sun God’s Tower still stood, but its solar disc was dim, lifeless. The once-proud palace of the Kingdom of Seleucus now lay in ruins—walls collapsed, remains scattered, every surface scarred by fire.
But the most striking structure in the city was the altar.
Adorned with shimmering scales and skeletons, it was a grotesque shrine—Tiamat’s Altar.
At its heart stood a staircase tower made of rough, massive stone, as if torn apart by giant claws. It was asymmetrical, distorted—like the fused, writhing bodies of five brutal dragons, frozen mid-struggle.
Inside, five towering stone pillars rose, each carved into the head of a dragon, each representing one of the five colors. They were not harmonious. They glared at one another, fangs bared, mouths open in silent fury—ready to tear.
Their eyes were set with gems—ruby, sapphire, emerald, white crystal, black jade—each glowing with a sickly, unnatural light, even in the gloom.
In the center, a vast, desecrated blood pool—over a hundred meters across. Not water. Not clear. It was a thick, viscous, bubbling sludge—red as molten lava, blue like plasma, green like poison, white like frost, black like a swamp.
They refused to mix. Instead, they clashed violently—sizzling, bursting, roaring in low, hungry tones.
This was the heart of sacrifice. All offerings—living beings, treasures, magical artifacts—were thrown into this chaotic vortex, sacrificed to appease the Dragon Queen.
Around the pool, thick layers of dried blood and grease coated the ground. Bones, limbs, shattered flesh—all scattered like offerings to a god of death.
Among the cultists in dark crimson robes, faces hidden beneath hoods, their human-dragon hybrid features twisted with ecstasy, they lifted their eyes to the sky.
> “Praise the great Mother of Monsters—Tiamat!”
> “Praise Kazul!”
> “When lava covers the earth and ash shrouds the sky, the Mother of Monsters shall descend! She will destroy the old era and bring forth the new!”
The evil dragon priests chanted the prophecy once more.
And by the blood pool, a towering figure in dark armor stood motionless—his face hidden behind a golden mask.
His eyes, glowing with an unnatural light, stared into the endless ash storm.
A single tear, almost imperceptible, slipped from the crack of the mask.
The mask was a fearsome fusion—five heretical dragon heads, twisted into a single, unified form. Each head seemed to roar loyalty to the Dragon Queen. Above his head, the mask formed a crown.
Beneath it, the face of a dragon—pale blue, covered in shimmering, gem-like scales—gleamed faintly.
A man with a dragon’s face.
And not just any dragon. The Sapphire Dragon—the very being the Sun and Time God, Amanata, had once chosen as a follower and envoy.
His identity was undeniable.
He was Philippe Aragon, third son of the Fadalan Emperor, blessed by the Sun God as a Gedyn Divine Offspring.
Now, he wore the Dragon Face Mask. He donned the Five-Color Robe. He was the nominal leader of the Dragon Worship Church—called Pope by the cultists.
> “Praise… Tiamat.”
His voice was hollow. Empty.
As if he had long since ceased to feel.
(End of Chapter)
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