Kapitel 22: Interlude - The Primordial

In the deepest depths of the earth, where light had never dared to touch, a God lay chained.

Her divine body, shattered into countless pieces, and her mind, fractured beyond recognition, yet still she lived.

She lived, and she raged. Hatred burned within her, a seething fire that refused to be extinguished by the passage of years, decades, centuries.

She fought against the chains that bound her, these vile suppressions forged by those cowardly gods who had failed to kill her.

They were too weak, too pitiful, resorting to this torturous imprisonment to keep her at bay. But she would not slumber, she would not yield. Her fury was a relentless storm, battering against the urge to succumb to the dark oblivion that threatened to engulf her.

"They thought they could contain me," she hissed in her mind, a fractured whisper echoing through the abyss. "They thought these chains, this darkness, could hold me. Fools! I am a tempest! I am vengeance incarnate! They will pay... oh, how they will pay."

Her mind was a labyrinth of madness and clarity, a chaotic blend of lucidity and schizophrenic ramblings.

Visions of revenge danced before her eyes, vivid and intoxicating.

She saw herself breaking free, her shattered body reassembling, each piece falling back into place with a resounding snap.

She imagined the looks of terror on their faces, those pathetic gods, as she rose from the depths, her fury a palpable force that would rend the heavens and the earth.

"I will flay their skin," she muttered, her voice a low, guttural growl. "I will strip their flesh from their bones and feast upon their agony. They will beg for death, but I will deny them. Oh yes, I will deny them. I will crush their skulls beneath my heel, one by one, savoring each and every scream."

The chains, forged from divine metals, quivered under her assault. She could feel their strength waning, the power that once held her so firmly now slipping away, bit by bit, piece by piece. Her promised revenge grew ever closer, an inevitability that no god, no matter how powerful, could escape.

"They think themselves safe," she snarled, a twisted smile curling on her lips.

"They think their realm, their thrones, their precious little domains can protect them. But they are wrong. I am the shadow in their light, the poison in their blood. There is no escape, no mercy, no respite. They will know my wrath. They will know suffering like never before."

Her hatred was a living thing, a beast that gnawed at her insides, driving her ever onward. The thought of their pain, their fear, fueled her and kept her from falling into the blissful, empty sleep that beckoned.

Her chains weakened further, each moment bringing her closer to the freedom she so desperately craved.

"I will tear their hearts from their chests," she whispered, her voice a haunting melody of malice. "I will drink their blood and laugh as they choke on their own screams. They will curse the day they ever thought to chain me. They will curse their own existence."

As the wheel of fate turned, so too did the times change. She could feel it, the subtle shifts in the cosmic balance, the weakening of her bonds.

Her time was coming, her revenge was near. No matter what they did, no matter how they tried to fortify their defenses, there would be no escaping her wrath.

"Soon," she breathed, her eyes burning with an unholy light. "Soon I will be free. And when that day comes, there will be no one left to save them. I will be their end. I will be their nightmare."

Broken yet unyielding, she lay in the depths of the earth, her soul a maelstrom of fury and madness.

She waited, she raged, and she dreamed of the day she would break free and exact her terrible vengeance upon those who had dared to imprison her.

And as each moment passed, her chains weakened, her power grew, and her promised revenge drew ever closer.

But it felt that something...wasn't right.

Like an unexplainable itch coming from deep within its shattered self, a prickling unease gnawed at her.

Her divine consciousness, dulled and fragmented by centuries of suppression, sent out ripples of warning.

Even as broken as she was, even as tightly bound as the chains were around her essence, she sensed it.

Danger. A threat that defied comprehension.

She couldn't understand the feeling, couldn't fathom its source.

The chains were wound so tightly around her being that she could barely maintain a semblance of consciousness, a flickering awareness just enough to keep her defenses up against the tide of insects—those wretched adventurers, always intent on feasting upon her still-warm corpse.

Filthy vermin, drawn to her power like moths to a flame, never comprehending the true terror that lay beneath their feet.

But the Mother of Monsters was nothing if not resourceful.

She had endured millennia of torment and had learned to adapt, to evolve in the face of insurmountable odds.

This feeling, this foreign plague brewing within her, would be no different. She would find it. She would root it out and obliterate it.

"I will not be undone by this," she snarled to herself, her voice a venomous whisper in the darkness. "I will exterminate whatever dares to threaten me from within. Nothing will stand in my way."

Her mind, fractured and maddened, began to focus with a newfound clarity. The chains that bound her were not just physical but metaphysical, constricting her very essence, her divine spark.

She would need to delve deeper, to understand this new threat. Her hatred, a constant companion, would fuel her search, driving her to uncover and destroy the source of this disquiet.

"I will not be deceived," she thought, a fierce determination blazing in her fragmented mind. "I will find you, whatever you are, and I will annihilate you."

Her awareness spread, tendrils of thought probing the depths of her being, searching for the origin of this insidious sensation.

It was slow, painstaking work, like navigating a labyrinth of shattered glass, each step bringing pain but also clarity.

The itch grew stronger, more pronounced, guiding her like a twisted beacon.

"Come out," she hissed into the void, "show yourself, coward."

There was no immediate response, only the echo of her own voice bouncing back from the abyss.

But she was patient. She had waited centuries; she could wait a little longer. Her resolve was ironclad, her will unbreakable.

Whatever lurked within her would not escape her wrath.

The Dungeon, chained and broken, yet indomitable, vowed to cleanse itself of this unseen threat.

Her hatred would burn it away, her fury would cleanse her being.

And when she was free, truly free, her vengeance would be all the more terrible for having been delayed.

This, she promised.

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