Blasfemy of the Gods

The Threshold trembled. The beast before Tanaka shifted, its form both solid and shifting, as if its existence was undecided. Flames of lost prayers flickered in its many eyes, and its molten breath filled the air with the scent of burning parchment—as if the very scriptures that once described it were turning to ash.

“It is many things,” the shadowed man said calmly. “A remnant of gods who were worshipped once but never again. A chimera of forgotten faiths.”

The beast moved fast. Too fast.

Tanaka barely dodged as one clawed hand lashed out, carving deep trenches into the ground where he had stood. Another arm swung a broken scepter, the power within it crackling with old divine energy.

A strike that should have killed him missed by inches.

His body was reacting on instinct. But why?

Another slash came, and this time, he felt the heat scorch his skin. He stumbled back, gritting his teeth.

The shadowed man merely watched, unmoving.

“Fight, M’fana.” His voice was firm but intrigued. “Your soul has already changed. Use it.”

Tanaka clenched his fists. The symbols on his arms glowed. His body felt lighter. Stronger. Faster.

The beast roared—a sound of dying gods—and lunged again.

This time, Tanaka didn’t dodge. He moved forward.

He ducked beneath a strike, his fingers brushing the broken scepter. The moment he touched it, a pulse of raw knowledge flooded him. Names. Rituals. Power that had long been erased from history.

And then he understood.

The gods that had once shaped this beast were watching him now.

Waiting.

Tanaka smirked.

“Then let’s see if you’re worthy of being rememb

ered.”

And with that, he attacked.