DCD - B3 - Chapter 50 - Ripple Effect

Across the layers, a resounding wave made its way through each city, plain, fortress, and every hidden corner of the world.

4th Layer - Harken City - Plaza of Harmony

It was late afternoon. The plaza was alive in the way cities always were after lunch.

Stone tiles radiated warmth from the sun. Merchants leaned lazily against their stalls, more interested in conversation than sales. A group of children argued loudly over whose turn it was to chase whom. One particular child stared intently at a man grilling meat just past the corner, the smell of spice and fat drifting through the square.

At the center of the plaza sat a set of tables. Their surfaces were carved with looping channels and shallow pits on opposite ends of the boards. Each divot held stones of the same color—one side black, the other white.

It was a regional board game, loved by many, old and young alike.

Right now, two women sat opposite each other, mid-match.

“You’re overthinking it,” one said, flicking a white piece forward. “You always do this when you’re losing.”

The other snorted, elbow on the table, chin resting in her palm. “I’m not losing. I’m setting you up.”

The sound of footsteps could be heard heading toward the square. These ones in particular were distinct, as some people parted, letting them through.

A man in a large coat strode through the plaza, the fabric heavy and embellished with numerous accessories: decorative medals, insignias, and badges.

He was the Patriarch of Viles—the head of the most prominent family within the city. A noble house whose name carried weight across the entire layer. Some whispered that they even maintained direct ties to high nobles.

The Patriarch slowed as he passed the table, glancing down at the board.

“You two are still at this?” he asked. “I really spoil you too much. You should be practicing.”

“In a minute, dad,” the first woman replied absently.

She moved a tile forward.

“Hah. There we go. Your move, sis.”

The other woman stared at the board, thinking. “Hmm…”

The Patriarch sighed, watching his daughters, clearly engrossed. “Your mother isn’t going to be happy that you two are slacking off.”

“Oh please, dad. We’re only taking a break,” the first said, lifting her gaze to her sister. “Isn’t that right?”

The second girl didn’t answer.

“Sister?” the first woman repeated. “Sis—”

That was when she—and her father—noticed.

The girl’s eyes had drifted away from the board. Not upward. Not outward. Her gaze turned inward instead. Her brow creased. Her lips parted slightly. Her thoughts were in disarray.

Her fingers trembled, tightening around the game piece.

A faint white glow bloomed in her eyes.

Hestia.

That was the girl’s name. One of the twin daughters of the Patriarch.

And she, in particular, was an oracle.

“Hestia, what’s wrong?” the Patriarch asked, stepping forward.

Her pupils dilated. Her breathing turned shallow and uneven. One hand pressed flat against her chest, fingers curling as if trying to grip her own heart.

“F-father,” she whispered. “It’s bad. Something… something bad.”

The Patriarch’s face drained of color.

1st Layer - Arline Temple

The shrine was small, but lovingly kept.

Sunlight filtered through narrow windows, catching on drifting incense smoke. The stone floor was worn smooth by countless knees. Wooden icons lined the walls—heroes, saints, and founders. Figures elevated not by divinity, but by belief.

The priest knelt at the front, his voice steady and practiced.

“…and through faith, we endure. Through remembrance, we—”

He stopped.

Not because he had forgotten the words.

But because something had interrupted them.

This man was a priest. He led followers in prayer and faith—but he had no connection to the gods. Few did anymore. Instead, this temple worshipped an ancient beast: the Arline Tiger. A guardian deity said to have protected the surrounding mountains for centuries.

Today was supposed to be a normal day of prayer.

Until something shocked the layers.

The priest’s chest tightened. His heartbeat stuttered.

For half a second, he thought he was about to faint.

Two dozen worshippers turned toward him, confused, concern spreading through the room. Sweat beaded along his brow and rolled down his face.

Outside, a distant roar echoed through the mountains.

“W-what was that?” someone whispered.

“That… was that the deity?”

“What’s going on?”

3rd Layer - Tretas Canyon - Demonic Territory.

Wind screamed along the canyon’s edge.

A lone figure stood balanced atop a narrow spire of stone, his cloak snapping violently behind him. Below, clouds churned endlessly, hiding whatever waited in the depths.

He dragged a whetstone along the length of his blade, the sound clean and sharp as it slid over the metal.

Then he stopped.

The surrounding air seemed to still.

He straightened slowly, turning to face the west.

“When will these gods leave us alone…” he muttered.

Behind him, his small camp remained untouched: a log used as a bench, a modest fire pit ringed with stones, a cooking pan resting beside a spit.

A sharp rustle cut through the wind.

The man vanished.

A sharp rustle echoed out of the wind as the man vanished. His visage flew down the mountain at blinding speed.

He disappeared from the canyon altogether in less than a few seconds.

??? - The Chamber of Glass

The scrying chamber was silent, save for the soft hum of layered wards.

A massive lens hovered at its center, surfaces etched with sigils that glowed faintly as it mapped the world beyond sight. It had shown wars, calamities, migrations, and deaths on scales most could not comprehend.

The woman monitoring it leaned back in her chair, bored, fingers drumming idly against the console.

Then the hum changed pitch.

The lens blinked.

A sharp crack split the air as fractures raced across its surface.

She shot to her feet. “What—”

The image vanished.

Not darkened.

Erased.

Her stomach dropped.

“No,” she said immediately, hand slamming against the table.

Behind her, an assistant laughed uneasily. “Relax. It’s probably just interference. You act like it hasn’t malfunctioned before.”

She didn’t look at him.

Her fingers hovered inches from the glass, trembling. “…It passed through,” she said slowly.

“Passed through what?”

She swallowed. “Us.”

Enchanted Layer - The Shaded Circle’s Hideout

At the center of the chamber, Veraine stood still. Mana lamps burned low along the curved stone of the room. Hanging veils had been added, along with suppression sigils. It was a temporary base, but it was now secure and hidden—concealed far away from scrying eyes.

Veraine’s eyes glowed. Not bright, but not dim. A yellow, golden hue, with shimmering wings embedded within.

She felt it.

Her lips curved. “How… interesting,” she murmured.

The sensation expanded across her awareness like ripples through still water. It wasn’t subtle. Not to those who also broke the system. It was clear to those who borrowed the powers above it.

And right now, she could feel it. Someone had broken through. Someone had used it.

It wasn’t a direct funnel—not yet. Only those with ascended skills could form the full pathway. This could only be explained as an Acolyte using their powers.

“It’s not the second layer,” she said softly, as if confirming her own words.

It wasn’t Jowlaw or Livira. Not the Empyrian girl they were sent to capture—unless she had somehow escaped to the First Layer.

But with so many Obsidian-Tier War Paragons there, fighting over control, including the layer’s cut-off access, how could she escape? Maybe she had done so before they arrived; there was no way to confirm until her subordinates raided the city.

The Keepers were there now, fighting alongside the two War Paragons Talo held: Dorian, Lumina, and Vezavok.

Veraine was being kept up to date by Lumina on the ongoing events. Their plans were working. The city was going to fall soon. The Phantom group she was working with was proving itself quite useful.

Unfortunately, Custodian had to step in. “How troublesome…”

She summoned a communication crystal to her side. It floated over from the edge of the room. A mental link clicked into place.

She spoke softly into it. “Stop the plan. I’m sure you felt it too. You two need to make your way to the First Layer. Now.”

2nd Layer - Talo, the White Bastion

The Keepers had arrived. Custodian, Vezavok, and Lumina.

All three were powerhouses from the enchanted layer. Here, to lend a helping hand. They joined forces with Talo’s Obsidian-Tier War Paragons: Lorrin and Laventis.

The fight had been going on for several hours now.

Sweat streaked down armor and robes alike, and the rhythm of their movements had slowed—subtly, but noticeably. Mana circulation faltered under prolonged strain, each spell and strike costing more than the last. Even so, they pressed forward, refusing to give ground while the city burned beneath them.

Lorrin and Laventis were exhausted, having taken the brunt of the fatigue for majority of the fight. They both had a city to defend and attackers to repel.

The Keepers on the other hand, were mostly in fighting shape. Especially the draconid.

Across from them, Jowlaw spun away from a burst of light with a laugh that sounded thinner than before. His coat was torn in several places, his breathing heavier now, though the manic gleam in his eyes remained untouched. Livira stayed close at his side, movements precise and economical, but scorch marks traced along her clothes and her mana reserves were visibly thinning.

Then something shifted.

It wasn’t an attack, nor an incoming spell. There was no flash, no roar—just a sudden, unmistakable pressure that rolled across the battlefield like a wave felt more in the bones than the air.

Every obsidian-tier presence froze for a fraction of a second.

Vezavok snarled mid-swing, claws tearing through empty space as he pulled back instinctively, wings flaring wide. “That wasn’t us,” he growled, eyes flicking across the sky.

Lumina’s jewelry ignited in reflex, facets of light flaring as her mana surged without conscious command. Her expression tightened as she reached out with her senses. “No,” she said sharply. “That wasn’t any of us.”

Custodian—Dorian—stilled completely.

Several of the artifacts orbiting him hummed in sudden discord, protective subroutines engaging on their own. His gaze swept across the city, the barrier, the distant layers beyond, searching for the source of the disturbance.

Godly power.

Active. Unfiltered. Real.

Laventis felt a chill trace its way down his spine as he adjusted his stance. “So,” he muttered, eyes narrowing, “they’ve made another move.”

Lorrin didn’t look away from Jowlaw and Livira. “Then this ends now,” he said, stepping forward despite the ache burning through his limbs.

Before either side could move again, Jowlaw’s laughter cut short.

A crystal at his hip flared to life.

Livira felt it at the same moment and withdrew a step, her gaze snapping to him as he pulled the crystal free. He stared at it for a heartbeat, then clicked his tongue in irritation.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Veraine’s voice slipped through the crystal, calm and unmistakable even amid the roar of battle.

“Disengage.”

Jowlaw frowned. “Now? We’re just getting warmed up.”

“There’s a more important target,” Veraine replied evenly. “First Layer. Immediate.”

Livira’s composure cracked just enough to show surprise. “First…?”

“That is where the power originated,” Veraine said. “Do not delay.”

The connection severed before another word could be spoken.

For a brief moment, no one moved.

Then Jowlaw exhaled, rolling his shoulders as if loosening tension rather than conceding ground. “Well,” he said lightly, glancing at Livira, “you heard her.”

“Temporary venture,” he added.

Livira inclined her head once. “Temporary.”

Custodian’s expression hardened as the implication settled into place.

“…Veraine,” he said quietly.

She had felt it too.

And unlike the rest of them, she knew exactly where it had come from.

“They’re withdrawing!” Lorrin barked, stepping forward again.

Jowlaw raised a hand, palm outward, a grin spreading across his face. “One last show,” he announced. “Call it a parting gift.”

Mana surged outward in a suffocating wave.

The sky darkened—not as if night had fallen, but as though light itself had been erased. Sound warped and twisted, replaced by overlapping cries and whispers that seemed to come from every direction at once. Across the battlefield and the city below, apparitions clawed their way into existence: specters, screaming faces, distorted silhouettes born of memory and fear.

Citizens screamed. Even seasoned War Paragons flinched. The area of effect of this spell was enormous. To be able to encapsulate an entire city, to where even the ends of the forests surrounding the place could not see the light of day—it was an S+ ranked spell. The strongest tier spell there was.

Yet nothing touched them.

Nothing was real.

Lumina reacted immediately.

Brilliant white light erupted from her jewelry as she raised both hands, mana pouring forth in a controlled detonation. “Enough.”

Her own S+ ranked spell tore through the false darkness like dawn breaking through stormclouds, purification washing across the sky and burning away the illusions in a single, blinding surge. The screams vanished. The shadows unraveled. Color and form rushed back into the world. Small injuries around them began to heal. It wouldn’t bring back the dead, but it could heal minor scrapes and cuts.

By the time the light faded, the space where Jowlaw and Livira had stood was empty.

Only scorched air and fading mana residue remained.

Silence settled heavily over the battlefield.

Custodian lowered his hand, eyes fixed on the distant horizon. “They’re heading for whatever caused it,” he said.

Lumina followed his gaze. “Then we’re already behind.”

High above the White Bastion, the sky continued to tremble.

Custodian exhaled once before turning. “You two go ahead and track them,” he said, nodding toward Vezavok and Lumina. “I need answers first.” His eyes shifted to Lorrin and Laventis. “The Shaded Circle doesn’t strike cities without purpose. I want to know why they came here—and why now.”

Vezavok snorted, wings spreading wide as heat rippled along his scales. Lumina was already moving, light gathering around her as she prepared to depart. A heartbeat later, both of them surged skyward, racing along the fading trail left behind.

Far below, on the First Layer, a little girl was reaching for power she had no right to touch.

And the world had noticed.

1st Layer - Eiyuria

“You—!”

The Godsworn blinked away, reappearing where he had stood before confronting the skeleton and the little girl.

Blood splattered across the dirt beneath him.

It wasn’t a trickle. Blood poured freely as he clutched his right arm—at least, what remained of it. Half of the limb was gone.

In front of Enya, fingers still twitching weakly in the dirt, lay Asvizer’s severed forearm.

A man bent down, picked it up, and hummed.

“Such a puny thing thinks it can touch the Empress’ belongings?”

He brought the arm to his mouth. His jaw opened wide as pronged teeth sank into the flesh, piercing straight through it. Within moments, the arm shriveled, collapsing into a dry husk. Bone remained, along with scraps of tissue and loose, flapping skin.

He pulled it from his mouth and tossed it aside.

“How distasteful.”

To the man’s right, Pell’s body was slowly rebuilding itself near Enya. Mr. Bones’ skull had been re-summoned as well, and she worked to repair their bodies with care.

Luckily, both skulls were intact.

If either had been destroyed, Enya might have lost them forever. She didn’t have a phylactery set up yet—no way to repair their souls. She wasn’t even certain she would retain their souls if they died again.

Enya’s form had changed.

She wore a completely dark dress now, black fabric flowing as if untouched by light. A black tiara rested atop her head. Her eyes were a pale white, filled with endless nothingness as she stared across the courtyard at Asvizer.

“What else would you like me to do, Empress?”

The voice belonged to none other than Enya’s underworld servant—Veylar, a noble undead vampire.

To their right stood Beatrice, the undead gate to the underworld.

Amberdean lay on the ground, staring up at them in horror. He had seen it firsthand.

The girl had become a monster.

A sudden gate of darkness had appeared, and some unimaginable creature—handsome in flesh, deathly beneath—had torn Asvizer’s arm away effortlessly.

“W-who are you?” he stammered, eyes locked on the vampire.

Enya stepped forward. Her expression was unreadable behind her misty white gaze.

Her voice was cold. “Drag him to the underworld,” she said. “Save him for Pell.”

Amberdean’s eyes widened. “U-underworld? What the hell is this brat say—”

His words cut off as Veylar stepped forward and lifted him by the throat.

“As you wish, Empress.”

Without hesitation, Veylar swung his arm and hurled Amberdean through the air, flinging him straight into Beatrice. Amberdean’s screams echoed briefly before vanishing as his body passed through the portal.

Enya’s gaze returned to Asvizer.

“I told you to stop hurting Pell,” she said quietly. “Now, I’m going to kill you.”