After the grand worship of Zemura Village's deity, peace seemed to return.
For days, the once-ailing village basked in serenity — the plague had vanished as if it were only a bad dream.
From that day forth, the villagers made a solemn vow: every month, without fail, they would worship the deity, offering fruits, sweets, and prayers so that the divine protector would never grow displeased.
The responsibility of arranging this monthly ritual was entrusted entirely to Vixen.
At first, he resisted — the weight of such a duty was not one he sought.
But the villagers insisted, their gratitude overflowing, until Vixen finally relented.
A month later, as dusk fell and the ritual drew to a close, Vixen stood before the villagers, thanking them for their devotion. The crowd praised him warmly, showering him with words of admiration for his selfless dedication.
And then — it happened.
From the shadows, three cloaked members of the cult emerged, their eyes glinting with malice. Without warning, they lunged, striking at Vixen and the unsuspecting villagers.
"Get to safety!" Vixen commanded, his voice sharp and urgent. He pushed the villagers toward the temple's inner chamber and turned to face the intruders alone.
The air thickened as Vixen unleashed his Divine Alpha Pheromone — an overwhelming force that pressed against the cultists like an invisible storm. The three attackers faltered, their strength crumbling under the crushing weight of his presence. One by one, they collapsed, defeated.
But the true threat had yet to reveal itself.
A slow, deliberate set of footsteps echoed through the temple courtyard.
From the darkness emerged the villager uncle. His face twisted in a strange, unholy calm. He tried to approach the deity, but the invisible barrier of protection repelled him.
Vixen, teeth bared, surged forward to strike — yet before he could reach him, the man stepped back, placing himself at a safe distance.
"You can't stop me," the uncle said, his voice dripping with venom. "Neither you… nor your so-called deity."
And then, with a horrifying smile, he drew a blade to his own throat.
"Before you or your precious god can kill me, I will offer myself — body and soul — to the Demon God. And when that happens, you will never escape His wrath. Not you. Not this village. Not even this country. Soon, He will spread, consuming state after state… until the entire world belongs to Him."
His laughter rang out — low and guttural, like the growl of a beast.
Vixen's voice thundered back, sharp with rage.
"Your cult, your Demon God — none of you will lay a finger on us!"
But the night seemed to grow colder, as if the darkness itself had begun to listen.
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