Rise of the Super War God

Chapter 7: The Grave of Stars

The twin suns didn’t bother with mercy. They hammered the desert, turning every grain of red dust into molten glass. Heat waves shimmered in waves, dancing across the dunes like spirits. Kael Ardyn squinted against the glare, boots sinking deep with every step. His legs screamed, muscles burning like molten iron. Sweat mixed with dust stings his eyes and coats his throat. Still, he pressed forward, dragging Granny Stitch—the stitched, eyeless relic tethered to his waist. Her rasping voice slithered into his mind, sharp and commanding, slicing through the oppressive silence.

“Don’t celebrate yet, boy,” she hissed. “That mountain ahead… something’s wrong. By my calculations, we shouldn’t see a hill for another dozen cosmic hours. So why is one right in front of us?”

Kael slowed, squinting. The silhouette in the distance trembled under the twin suns, like a mirage trying to trick him. “Maybe your calculations are off, Granny,” he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. “Or maybe your eyes aren’t what they used to be. You were flying fast earlier.”

“Hmph,” she rasped, rough as sandpaper. “Keep mocking me, boy. Let’s see who’s laughing when that ‘mountain’ turns out to be something else entirely.”

He pressed onward, letting the desert’s heat press down like a living weight. The sand beneath his boots shifted and whispered, grains sliding against each other in a rhythm that felt alive. Hours passed. His body ached, every step a torment, yet the figure ahead loomed closer.

When he finally crested the last dune, reality struck heavier than the suns themselves.

It wasn’t a mountain.

It was a grave.

The wasteland had become a necropolis of colossal bones. Massive skulls with jagged teeth, fused ribcages, shattered spines—they jutted into the sky, forming twisted peaks. Wind whispered through gaps, carrying the dry stench of decay. Kael’s throat went dry. His chest tightened.

“My god…” he whispered. “It’s not a mountain. It’s a graveyard. A beast graveyard.”

“Told you,” Granny Stitch snapped, sharp as a whip. “See the marks? Bones split open, flesh stripped clean. Bite marks. The Swarm did this. You don’t linger here. One wrong move, and you’ll join the pile.”

Kael’s stomach churned. “Even these massive creatures didn’t survive… what hope do we have?”

“Use your brain before whining,” she hissed. “Find something sharp—a fang, a rib, whatever’s curved. You’ll need it. Move!”

Grimly, Kael climbed over the skeletal remains. Each step creaked under his weight, whispering the lives lost here. He pried a massive fang free from a skull the size of a small hut. It cracked with a dull thud—perfect for a weapon, or a walking stick. Testing the edge with his thumb, he grinned, grim despite the heat.

“You could at least say thank you,” he muttered.

“Thank me? For doing what you should’ve done yourself an hour ago? Keep moving,” Granny snapped.

The twin suns beat down relentlessly, heat searing through bone and sinew. Sweat evaporated the instant it touched the sand. His throat felt raw. His lips cracked. Every step became a battle.

“So this is what dying of thirst feels like,” Kael muttered.

“Keep walking,” Granny whispered, almost gently. “Water is ahead. I can sense it. Don’t stop.”

His legs trembled. Vision blurred. Heat haze distorted everything.

“Don’t stop…” she repeated, firmer this time. “Think of why you’re alive. Think of her.”

“Elara…” His voice cracked. Memories flared—her smile, the fire in her eyes. Step by step, he pressed on, defying death itself.

Time blurred. The sun sank, staining the sky molten orange and crimson.

“There,” Granny hissed. “Ahead. Real. Push.”

Through the haze, a jagged dark shape emerged. His pulse quickened. Leaning on the fang, he dragged himself forward. Hours later, trembling, near collapse, he stumbled into its shadow. Cold air cut through his sweat-soaked clothes.

Pools of water shimmered between jagged rocks, scattered like fragments of glass. Kael fell to his knees. This—this was life. Sanctuary amidst death.

“Stop!” Granny Stitch’s voice cracked. Tentacles lashed, wrapping around his wrists before he could touch the water. She probed it with a tendril.

“This isn’t water,” she hissed. “Poisoned. Metallic residue. Synthetic minerals. Drink, and you die within an hour.”

“I don’t care!” he shouted. “Even one mouthful!”

Her grip tightened. “I didn’t drag your half-dead body across this wasteland to watch you kill yourself.”

The pools rippled unnaturally. Something moved beneath the surface—slow, deliberate, patient.

“Not every oasis brings salvation,” Granny whispered. “Some puddles hide monsters deeper than any desert. Never forget that.”

Kael’s fists clenched. He would not be prey. Not anymore.

The last light bled from the sky. Mountains loomed ahead, dark silhouettes swallowing the sun. Granny Stitch’s silence pulsed through the bond they shared—tense and electric.

Then came the howls. First one, then dozens. The Voidspawn Swarm echoed off the cliffs, chilling the desert. Kael froze.

“You’re going to die,” Granny said, voice tired, resigned. “Luck abandoned you. Fate wins. Maybe even I am done.”

Kael’s eyes burned. Thoughts of Elara flooded him. Every glance, every word left unspoken. He would not die here.

“No. I will survive,” he whispered, teeth gritted. “I’ve walked twenty cosmic hours. I’ll survive. I have the War God System. One day, Elara Myrin will see me again—and she will bow before me.”

Defiance sparked in his chest. Granny Stitch let out a weak, ironic laugh.

The Eye of the Reaper flared to life. Kael lifted his sunglasses. White light cut through darkness, revealing hidden veins of energy pulsing through the mountains. And then he saw it—a hollow mountain, thin as glass. A cave.

Ignoring Granny Stitch’s protests, Kael struck the stone with the beast's fang. Clang! Sparks flew. Dust fell like gray snow. Hollow echoed with each strike.

A deep rumble shook the valley. Cracks laced the wall, faintly glowing. One final blow shattered the stone. Silence.

Before him yawned a dark cave, cold, damp, alive. Somewhere inside, claws scraped. Breath echoed—slow, deliberate, sentient. Kael grinned, teeth bared.

“Looks like the heavens aren’t done with me yet,” he murmured.

Granny Stitch remained silent. Shadows stretched. The desert seemed to hold its breath.

Kael stepped forward, fang in hand, heart hammering. Whatever awaited—monster, relic, or destiny—he would face it head-on.

From this moment, Kael Ardyn would carve his path through blood and fire. The universe would remember his name.