SHK CH 776 (Patreon)

Hypnos observed the thousands of crimson eyes that were eyeing him greedily. He made the mistake of staring too deeply into one of those eyes, but immediately regretted it as he was rewarded with a pure bombardment of information powerful enough to bring him a headache. 

“Be careful, do not act like that fool over there. Someone once said, If you look at the abyss, the abyss will look back at you. You are already insane enough as is.” Sol waved his hand and hugged a surprised Echidna. 

Sol made sure that her face stayed against his chest to keep her from making the same mistake as Hypnos. He had noticed her trying to observe the eyes more closely and knew that she was mad enough to continue the staring contest until the end. 

Things are becoming messy. Hypnos sighed inwardly. 

Up to a few moments ago, the situation in itself wasn’t all that dire. Sol’s infiltration of Elysium was unprecedented. It wasn’t as if he had lost. Ambrosia and Lilith were fighting Euphoria, but he was not worried about her.

One could say that up to a few moments ago, he still had control. In fact, from his perspective, this was the perfect occasion to analyze Sol and gain a deeper understanding of this young adversary.

At least this was what he thought before Sol started using his powers.

But the moment the prince summoned the incarnation of hunger, alarm bells started ringing.

It was hard to describe. He could feel the Concept of Gluttony pushed to its most extreme and distorted.

Famine. 

But there was something more. Something wrong. Something alien. A peculiar feeling he could not describe, but that made goosebumps crawl on his skin.

“What kind of abomination are you?” He asked, gloom evident in his voice.

His plan changed. Observation be damned. Sol needed to be neutralized immediately.

“My, your words profoundly hurt my heart. I am no abomination. At the moment, I am nothing but a gentle Dream Eater.”

｢Famine -::- All Devouring Beast｣

The beast awakened. Dozens of tendrils uncoiled from beneath Sol’s feet, like starving limbs dragging themselves through ash. They crawled, scraped, and dug into the nothingness, anchoring themselves in the void.

Then they lunged. Mouths bloomed across the limbs—wide, jagged, unnatural things. Rows of teeth churned like grinding bone. They bite again and again. They chewed, slow and loud, like something savoring the taste. 

The black void couldn’t resist in front of this absolute violence. It peeled away like flesh. Every inch the shadows touched was devoured and swallowed.

The air shook with the sound of chewing.

The beast grew faster. Hungrier. Its mouths multiplied, overlapping in tangled masses, snapping at the edges of everything. There was no shape. No order. Just hunger and motion.

Sol watched all this with a certain detachment. This was certainly not the power depicted by most heroes. Anyone who saw this would believe he was a monster from hell. 

Funnily, the first part of the quote he gave earlier flashed in his mind. 

He who fights monsters should be careful not to become one himself, and if he gazes into the abyss for too long, the abyss will gaze back into him.

Sol gazed into the multiple eyes, and they gazed back at him. This made him realize the abyss he was gazing into was his own. This was the representation of his will. The personification of his power. 

Perhaps he was now indeed a monster sinking into the deep darkness. But so what? 

“I just wish to protect them,” and for that, he would gladly become a monster if it were necessary. 

***

While Sol was going some some personal enlightenment, Hypnos was having the second worst time of his life. 

As the Devouring Beast swallowed the dream, he screamed as he felt something deep inside him being torn apart and vanishing completely. 

This was different from what happened with Ambrosia or even Echidna. One had destroyed the dream, and the other devoured the energy fueling it.

“You’re trying to steal my Concept!” Hypnos roared.

Sol tilted his head and shrugged. “Let’s just call it borrowing.”

Hypnos moved to retaliate. Surprised, he might be, but his power was not something that could be stolen that easily. The Dream World shifted first.

Dozens of pale skeletal hands burst from the ground, latching onto his arms, shoulders, and legs in a blink. Before he could resist, a throne rose behind him—white bone stacked and fused into shape by will alone. It wrapped around him like a cage masquerading as a seat.

He was forced to sit. Forced to watch. Helpless to do anything else. He could feel his power weakening and his grasp over the Dream world slipping. 

The culprit was clear.

“Anubis,” Hypnos muttered through clenched teeth.

***

At the same time, in Anubis' dream, the world was transformed into a sea of death and fire.

Like with Ambrosia, the dream had slowly tried to bring Anubis into a different possibility. A world where he did not manage to win his way through, but rather was recognized for his talent and brought to the royal capital. 

In There instant of disdain and hate, he was met with love and appreciation. He had no Book of the Dead and was not particularly special, but he was just talented enough for his siblings not to be worried about him.

Then, after working hard, he managed to get the love of his father, obtained a house and a county territory on the outskirts of the kingdom, and created a nice and happy family. 

This was definitely a very beautiful story. One filled with warmth and happiness. He even instinctively understood that this was not just an illusion but a real possibility. 

But for Anubis, none of it mattered. For his dream had never been to settle and die old in this world, but to find his way back to his original world and meet his true parents again. 

Breaking out of the dream was proving to be hard. Even harder than he thought it would be. But it was not impossible.

He was slowly able to worm his way through the illusion. If he truly wished, he could leave. But he did not. He decided to try something. To sublimate his own soul by committing an action he had never dared to in the real world.

**

So he killed.

He killed his fake wife. He killed his fake children. He was caught and accused of murder. But this was not enough to stop him. He killed the knights who came to capture him and did not forget the wardens.

From his servants to the people of his county, then the people of the duchy, and finally the entire empire. 

He did not have the Book of the Dead, but he did not need it. Necromancy came naturally to him. He was the master of Death, and not even the God of Dreams, much less a demigod of dreams, could take that away from him.

Everywhere he went, the odor of blood and the sea of corpses followed. Curses, plagues, poisons, massacre. Nothing was beneath him. Children, women, and old men. He paid no attention to their ages, gender, or races.

All were equal in the presence of Death.

At first, they cursed him. Then they feared him. And when fear broke, they prayed to him.
Kneeling in the mud, sobbing, they begged for mercy.

He granted it.

To them all, he brought the sweet release of Death, for there was no greater mercy than it.

This dream lasted ten years. 

For ten years, the stench of decaying corpses never left him. He slaughtered without pause—one, ten, a hundred, a million, until the corpses drowned the horizon.

In the end, he drove his hand through his father’s chest and crushed the still-beating heart in his palm.

That was number 999,999,999.

Silence followed.

Watching the futile end of the one who might have become the emperor of the world, Anubis sat on the throne made out of thousands of bones and looking at the army of the dead that covered the world.

His mind flashed back to the words he once shared with Lilin when she was nothing but a young chick.

“Kill one man, and you are a murderer. Kill millions of men, and you are a conqueror. Kill them all, and you are a god.”

Golden light flashed in his eyes, and his divinity almost doubled. This entire endeavor had been a grand ritual that cleansed his soul and allowed him to bathe in the greatest essence of death.

He felt no remorse. Such things had long been beneath him. 

As he was now, he was sure he could match even Tiamat. 

Yet Godhood still eluded him. 

The answer was clear. At the end of the day, this was nothing but a dream. The souls here were all fake.

But, if he were to repeat this ritual in the mortal realm? If he truly erased all life until only he was left?

Then godhood might belong to him. 

“What a shame. My son-in-law would never let me do this, and Isis would hate me.”

He sighed at the futility of it all. He had found a possible way to godhood, but he could not use it. Risking his relationship over a mere possibility was simply not worth it.

This was truly frustrating. His mind connected to the backdoor he had created while committing the massacre, and he made sure to tighten his control on Hypnos. 

Coming back to the mortal realm had truly been a great decision. This had been a productive trip, and he was sure he could glean more from it.

As for dealing with Hypnos and Euphoria. He would leave that to Sol.