The Power of Heaven and Taste of Hell

Chapter Five: The Power of Heaven and Taste of Hell

"What exactly are we doing out here, Lord Olorun? This is hardly a place for a lady," Lady Rosalind complained, stretching her delicate arms toward the sky.

"As much as it pains me to admit it, I agree with Lady Rosalind," added Princess Elenor, her tone sharp. However, she stood clad in her full armor, unlike Rosalind.

Before them, Lord Olorun stood silent, surveying the bleak horizon. Across from him were Princess Elenor, Lady Rosalind, Princess Alexandra, and Lord Cedric. They stood on the far side of the mountain range that separated Melianor from the Dead Lands.

The Dead Lands were desolate and foreboding, where life had long been smothered. The cracked earth stretched out endlessly, marred with jagged rock formations that pierced the landscape like the bones of a long-forgotten beast. What few trees remained were little more than twisted, skeletal remnants—blackened trunks and gnarled branches reaching toward the sky as if clawing for escape.

The corruption that had devoured the land seeped into every crevice. A thick, creeping mist clung to the lower valleys, rising from the fissures in the ground. It shifted in unpredictable swirls, its thickness varying as if it had a mind of its own, watching, waiting.

Once teeming with life, the riverbeds now held only sluggish, murky waters. What few animals had once wandered into this forsaken place lay dead, their bones or bloated carcasses half-submerged, floating on the stagnant surface.

"We're here because I have something to show you all, and you all will be the first to witness it," Olorun said, stepping forward.

The mist of the Dead Lands seemed to coil around the sorcerer as though drawn to him, but it never made contact, as if repelled by his very presence.

"For centuries, healing magic has been the domain of the divine," Olorun began, his voice cutting through the oppressive stillness. "Countless wizards and sorcerers have tried and failed to replicate its effects through the arcane."

The mist of the Dead Lands curled closer around him but never touched, almost as though it feared him. He stopped a few feet ahead of the group, his presence commanding their full attention. As he spoke, the air around him began to stir. A faint, glowing aura of mana slowly seeped from his body, swirling around him in delicate threads of light.

"Arcane magic," he continued, "draws from the raw, primal forces of the universe—earth, fire, air, water, space, time, order, chaos. It is powered by the energy of creation itself: mana. Yet there are two domains even the greatest arcanists could never touch—life and ****."

A sudden gust of wind burst outward from Olorun, forcing the mist to retreat and causing the others to shield themselves from the ****.

"Divine magic, on the other hand, flows from the celestial realms—a gift from the gods, spirits, or other higher powers. It is woven into the essence of life and ****, embodying purity, balance, and the cycles of creation. Unlike us arcane casters, divine casters—clerics, paladins—do not manipulate this power through intellect or ****. They wield it through faith and devotion. The gods grant their followers the ability to perform healing, restoration, and purification miracles. What we refer to as 'Restoration Magic.'"

The mana surrounding him flickered, growing unstable as if responding to the tension in his words. His aura shifted from blue to a pale, shimmering white.

"The gods tightly control these spells," Olorun continued, his voice growing sharper. "Though they require mana, just like all other magic, the gods decide whether these spells succeed or fail. They deny this power to any who lack faith."

The glow around him brightened, the white light growing intense, almost blinding.

"But that control ends now!"

Princess Elenor's eyes narrowed as the air crackled with the overwhelming energy radiating from Olorun. She instinctively reached for the hilt of her sword. At the same time, Lady Rosalind recoiled, throwing a hand over her eyes to shield herself from the brightness.

"What are you doing, sorcerer?" Elenor's voice was firm, though there was a trace of unease in her tone.

"Trespassing into the domain of the gods!" He replied.

Olorun's declaration echoed across the barren landscape, reverberating like a storm breaking across the Dead Lands. His aura swelled, pulsating with the sheer **** of arcane power that seemed to warp the air around him.

"Are you mad?" Princess Elenor snapped, her arm rising to cover her face, protecting it from the blowing winds. "You cannot challenge the gods! Even if you succeed, they'll—"

"Punish me?" Olorun interrupted with a chuckle, his voice dripping with sardonic amusement. "Do not be so naive, Princess. The gods are not omnipotent; they are merely another form of power that has grown complacent!"

Princess Alexandra stepped forward, her soft voice cutting through the tension. "But why? Why risk so much?"

Olorun slowly turned to face her, a plain white mask materializing over his face, concealing his expression and leaving only his eyes visible. His dark robes coalesced around his body, fluttering wildly in the chaotic wind as if responding to the gale forces he had summoned.

"Because, young princess," he said, his voice smooth yet edged with dangerous excitement, "this is what a sorcerer does. We are seekers of knowledge, researchers of the arcane, driven to push past the boundaries imposed by gods and mortals. We do not accept limits—we break them."

Suddenly, the air thickened with magic, the ground beneath them trembling as the swirling mist of the Dead Lands pulsed in rhythm with Olorun's growing power. The mana threads he had woven snapped into place, forming a brilliant, intricate symbol on the ground beneath him. Roots and grass began to pierce through the once-dead earth, green life returning to a patch of land within the magic circle, defying the desolation that had plagued the region for centuries.

Princess Elenor's eyes widened in disbelief as she struggled to comprehend what was unfolding. "This power... it can't be real. This is no illusion, is it?" she muttered, her grip tightening on her sword.

"Impossible…" Alexandra whispered, her hands clasped to her chest as she took an involuntary step closer. "Is he… reversing the corruption of the Dead Lands?"

Lady Rosalind, in awe, started strolling toward Olorun, her gaze locked on him as if she were under a spell. "Lord Olorun… y-you've always been incredible, but this… this is beyond anything I could imagine!" Her voice trembled, her eyes on him like a love-stricken maiden.

Before she could get too close, her father, Lord Cedric, quickly grabbed her arm and pulled her back toward the group. "Now is not the time for that, Rosalind!" he said bluntly, his stern gaze shifting back to the scene unfolding before them.

"I… I don't know whether I should be in awe or afraid," Lord Cedric muttered, his voice heavy with uncertainty. "The restoration of the Dead Lands… it was thought impossible…" His words trailed off as he fell into deep contemplation, his expression grim.

Olorun abruptly released the spell, collapsing to his knees as his chest heaved with exhaustion. Around him, a fresh patch of grass, roughly two meters in diameter, shimmered in the eerie mist, standing in stark contrast to the surrounding desolation.

“Hah… hah… F-forcing open the gates of the heavens… it's more draining than I thought," he gasped, his voice weak, each word strained. His entire body trembled, looking as though it might give out entirely at any moment.

Princess Alexandra and Lady Rosalind rushed forward, eyes wide with concern. "Lord Olorun, are you alright?" Alexandra asked, kneeling beside him. Her hand hovered uncertainly, torn between offering comfort and caution.

Rosalind, far less hesitant, placed her hands on his shoulders. "Lord Olorun, please, tell me you're unharmed!" she cried, her voice laced with genuine fear.

"Calm yourselves," Olorun rasped, his breath still labored. "All that happened is I've exhausted my mana. Even my vast reserves weren't enough to keep that door open." As he spoke, the mask on his face and the dark robes that had cloaked him dissolved into shimmering mana particles, leaving him visibly drained yet composed.

"Still, I call this a success," the sorcerer said, his gaze fixed on the small patch of greenery he had coaxed from the barren soil. "One step closer to bringing life back to the Dead Lands—real life, more than just the horrors that haunt this place."

He paused, his eyes narrowing in thought. "All I need now is the mana," he muttered to himself, the hint of a plan forming in his mind. "That... maybe my next project."

"No! No more worrying about projects or anything else—you need to rest," Lady Rosalind said firmly, surprising him as she put her foot down.

Princess Elenor took a hesitant step forward, her ice-blue eyes locked onto Olorun. "You're meddling with forces beyond mortal comprehension, sorcerer. If the gods truly notice what you've done here... their retribution will be swift."

"Good thing I'm immortal, then," he murmured with a soft chuckle, his voice laced with quiet amusement.

Princess Elenor gazed at the sorcerer for a moment, her expression unreadable, before she turned away from Lord Olorun.

"We should head back to the tower," she said, her tone steady. "After that display of power, we're bound to attract creatures we'd rather not deal with right now."

"Agreed," Olorun said as he rose to his feet, appearing to have regained enough strength. Lady Rosalind clung to one arm while Princess Alexandra had somehow latched onto his other without anyone noticing exactly when she had done so.

Olorun mumbled a few arcane words, and a gust of wind enveloped them all. When it cleared, they found themselves back on the first floor of his tower, the Astral Nexus. The sorcerer staggered slightly, nearly falling over from exhaustion. Still, Princess Alexandra and Lady Rosalind quickly steadied him, their hands gripping his arms.

"Lord Olorun!" Lady Rosalind called out.

"It's nothing; I just need to rest... I'll summon an elemental to carry me to my bedroom," Olorun said, trying to brush off his exhaustion.

"NO! I—uh, I mean, no, I'll take you there," Lady Rosalind replied, her eyes gleaming with excitement at the prospect of finally seeing the inside of his room.

---

"Your Highness," a knight said. Entering the war room and sitting around the table was the King at the very end; next to him on both sides were military and financial advisors, followed by knight commanders and senior knights. All discussed the recent outcomes of defending their southern seas and pushing back the Saloris Empire.

"Speak," the King commanded, his deep voice cutting through the murmurs of the war room. His eyes, sharp and calculating, flickered toward the knight standing at attention by the door.

The knight stepped forward, his face tense as he began to read from the naval report in his hand. "Your Majesty, our naval forces have continued to dominate the Salorisian fleet, largely thanks to the wind and air elementals. The Salorisian savages were caught completely off-guard, unable to predict or defend against the elemental onslaught."

There was a murmur of approval among the gathered commanders and advisors. Still, it quickly died down as the knight hesitated, his tone growing darker. "However, sire... the most recent battle was a catastrophe."

The King's eyebrow arched, his curiosity piqued. The war room grew still, the attention of every advisor now entirely on the knight.

"We had already uncovered troubling rumors about the Salorisians controlling monsters," the knight continued, his voice dropping grimly. "And now we believe those rumors to be true. During the latest battle, an entire fleet—forty ships—was wiped out."

The King's expression hardened, but he said nothing, urging the knight to continue with a wave of his hand.

"They never saw the creature itself," the knight explained, his eyes dark with the weight of the report. "All they saw were massive tentacles rising from the depths of the sea. The tentacles wrapped around our ships, individually dragging them to the ocean floor. The sailors barely had time to react. Only one survived but barely spoke about what he saw outside what little is in this report."

A hushed silence fell over the room, broken only by the nervous shifting of the council members. The air was thick with fear and disbelief.

"One creature," the King repeated, "Forty ships, gone, and none caught a glimpse of it beyond its tentacles..."

"And we can't strike back with equal ****," the knight said bitterly. "That damned sorcerer decreed we're only allowed to use the elementals for defense and support, never for direct conquest." The King's grip tightened on the armrest of his throne, the glow of his eyes flickering dangerously.

The lead military advisor, General Valmont, cleared his throat and spoke gravely, "Your Majesty, now that we have confirmed the Saloris Empire's control over these monsters, we must reassess the situation from a new perspective."

"What do you propose, General Valmont?" the King asked, dismissing the messenger with a wave of his hand, his sharp gaze fixed on the advisor.

"The elementals are restricted to defense, correct?" General Valmont began, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Let's push the boundaries of that defense. Send a squad of soldiers to initiate an offensive, but keep the elementals nearby. As the soldiers engage, have them retreat under enemy fire. If the elementals are truly bound to protect, we'll see if they intervene to shield our men during their retreat."

The King leaned back as the room fell into a tense silence, and the implications of General Valmont's suggestion settled in. Breaking the rules of the sorcerer's decree was a dangerous gamble. Still, the alternative—allowing the Saloris Empire to ravage their forces unchecked—was equally dire.

Before the King could say more, a familiar sensation stirred within his loins —a subtle yet unmistakable tingling. This relentless stiffness had plagued him for the past three days since he had been granted direct control over the elemental army. The power coursing through him was intoxicating, but it had strange and unexpected side effects that gnawed his focus.

"That will be enough for today," the King declared, his voice steady despite the discomfort. "We shall reconvene tomorrow morning. By week's end, we will decide how to proceed."

With a nod, the gathered council members bowed respectfully before exiting the war chamber. As the last of them filed out, the King lingered momentarily, straightening his robes and regaining his composure. He quickly left the chamber and strode through the dimly lit halls of the castle.

As he rounded a corner, he spotted one of the many maids tending to the castle's upkeep. She was busy polishing a candelabra, her back turned to him, unaware of his approach.

"You there, servant," the King called out, his deep voice echoing through the corridor. The maid flinched, startled by his sudden presence. She spun around quickly, her posture stiff as she faced him, eyes wide with both fear and uncertainty. Her hands fumbled with the cloth she had used to polish the candles, and she bowed deeply, trembling slightly.

"Y-yes, my sir?" The servant girl said, tripping over her words.

"Come with me. Now!" the King commanded, his voice sharp as he seized the maid by the arm. She barely had time to react before he dragged her down the corridor, his grip unyielding. His breaths grew heavier, his body tense as the fire burning in his loins—the burning lust—grew almost unbearable.

Pulling her toward one of the guest bedrooms used rarely. The ornate doors creaked open as he pushed through, and without a word, he flung the maid onto the bed. She landed with a gasp on her back, eyes wide with shock and fear, staring up at the night godly figure of an older man before her.

The maid's heart raced, her body paralyzed with fear as the King's imposing figure loomed over her. Without a word, he reached out, his large hand closing around her ankle. With a rough pull, he dragged her toward him, her body sliding helplessly across the bed. The sudden motion lifted her leg into the air, causing her dress to bunch up, revealing the simple white panties beneath.

"M-my lord," she stammered, her voice trembling. "I-I can't p-please. I'm still unt—"

"Silence," the King commanded, his voice cold yet laced with a dangerous desire. Without hesitation, his hand slid forward, fingers pressing firmly against her womanhood through the thin fabric of her panties.

The maid's eyes widened even further as two of the King's fingers pressed into her, their rough texture contrasting with her delicate flesh. Her mouth gaped open, her tongue stretching out into the air. Her breath came in ragged gasps as her body instinctively tensed, futilely trying to resist the intrusion and **** his fingers out of her womanhood.

Now unimpeded by the torn fabric, the King's fingers continued their exploration of the powerless maid's slowly moistening lower hole, pushing deep into her, each thrust unrelenting. Her mouth tries to **** out a moan that never seems to come until. Finally, the King feels her warm walls clenching around her two fingers, and juices start spraying from her, causing her to moan out loud.

The maid's moans echoed through the guest bedchamber as her body quivered in response, her inner walls tightening around the King's probing fingers. A sly grin spread across the King's face as he withdrew his slickened fingers, bringing them to the maid's lips.

"Clean them," he commanded, his voice a low growl.

Without hesitation, she instinctively obeyed, her tongue flicking over his fingers as she began to suck, tasting herself on the King's touch.

Her eyelids fluttered shut, a soft moan escaping her lips as the sheets shifted beneath her. The King's fingers, now clean, left a lingering sensation on her lips. As he disrobed before her, his regal figure was revealed—despite his age, his body remained impressively toned. With the last of his robes pooling at his feet, the bed creaked as he climbed, his presence looming over the defenseless maid. She could feel the weight of him pressing down as he positioned himself above her.

The King's hands pressed firmly into the mattress on either side of her, caging her beneath his imposing frame. His eyes, dark with hunger, seemed to consume every inch of her trembling form. The maid's body stiffened, her breath quickening as his weight bore down, a mix of fear and anticipation swirling in her chest. Her pulse raced, wild and erratic, as she struggled to distinguish whether it was terror or desire that made her heart pound so fiercely.

The woman's lips parted as a pained moan escaped, her body tensing beneath him. Her fingers dug into the sheets, knuckles turning white as she struggled to withstand the sharp discomfort coursing through her. The King had begun to push inside her sensitive womanhood, taking his time, savoring every inch as he **** his way past any resistance.

"You're tight—virginal tight," he muttered with a dark satisfaction. "Good... I'll see you're rewarded for that."

With a final, forceful thrust, he slammed his hips into hers, his weight crashing down as her body involuntarily shuddered beneath the impact.

"Please… my lord, it hurts!" the maid cried out, tears brimming in her eyes. Her face contorted in a pained grimace, her body taut, struggling to accommodate the intrusion.

"Hush, it'll feel better soon," the King said, his voice rough with desire. His hips began to move, thrusting steadily, forcing his length deeper into her tight, wet depths.

His pace increased, driving into her with forceful thrusts, each motion pushing her body against the bed. A mix of pleasure and pain spread throughout her, and the maid could feel her body beginning to relax. The King's breathing grew heavier, his muscles rippling with tension, and a deep, guttural moan escaped his lips.

The King's breathing grew heavier, his muscles rippling with tension, and a deep, guttural moan escaped his lips. The sound reverberated throughout the bedchamber, filling her ears and drowning out her ragged breaths. With one final, **** motion, he buried himself as deeply as he could within her and released his seed inside her."

The maid's eyes flew open, her back arching as the heat of his essence filled her. Her mouth opened, a silent scream tearing from her throat. She could feel her inner walls convulsing around him, her entire body shaking. Her senses were overwhelmed, her mind struggling to comprehend the intensity of the sensation.

The maid's body went limp as the King collapsed atop her, his weight bearing down on her, the scent of his sweat mingling with her own. The two lay still, their ragged breaths filling the bedchamber. After a few moments, the King's body slowly shifted, the pressure lifting as he pulled away, rolling onto his back.

The maid, still unable to move, could feel his seed beginning to leak from her.

"You did well, and not a word of this to anyone," the King stated, climbing off the girl. "You'll be properly compensated as long as you keep your mouth shut."

After climbing back to his feet and getting dressed, the King approached the door, leaving the maid motionless on the bed.

---

A/N: This was supposed to be finished and uploaded last month, but life has been tiring, and I've crashed on all my story writing and barely gotten any art done. I'll be trying to pick it up again, but for now, I may be going at a slower pace. I apologize for that.