Starting Out As The God of Beasts

The foundation of the Northern Hashian Mountains groaned like a dying titan.

When the spatial barrier shattered under Roy’s quiet command, the suppressed kinetic force of the divine explosion detonated with the violent fury of an unsealed volcano.

The earth beneath the Glorious Mythical Sect buckled and heaved; long, jagged fissures tore through the manicured stone pathways, ripping apart ancient marble plazas and splintering centuries-old wooden pavilions into tinder.

Deep, echoing cracks spider-webbed straight through the bedrock of the mountain itself, sending massive rockslides tumbling down the steep cliffs into the misty abysses below.

The entire sect vibrated violently, shaking every cultivator out of their deep, forced slumber.

Within seconds, panicked screams echoed across the mountain peaks.

Emergency alarm bells chimed in frantic, erratic rhythms as thousands of inner and outer disciples, dressed in messy inner robes, flooded out of their sleeping quarters into the chaotic night air.

Flying swords slashed through the darkness as nervous elders bolted toward the epicenter of the cataclysm, their spiritual senses pushed to the absolute limit.

Among the first to arrive at the scene was Sect Leader Mao Zedian, flanked by his grand council of elder cultivators.

Yet, as Sect Leader Mao touched down on a raised stone ridge overlooking the ruined courtyard, his feet froze.

His breath caught in his throat, and his face drained of all color.

The scene before them was an unholy, sickening slaughterhouse.

The grand, three-story residential pavilion that had once belonged to the late Silver Lotus Elder—the very palace where High Priest Arnold and his retinue had been graciously accommodated—no longer existed.

In its place was a massive, smoking crater of melted glass and glowing slag, radiating a suffocating, unnatural heat that scorched the eyebrows of anyone standing within a hundred meters.

Even worse was the horrific carnage scattered across the perimeter.

Dozens of young disciples who had been sleeping in adjacent quarters had not even lived long enough to wake up.

Their bodies were strewn across the cracked cobblestones, roasted to black, charred husks by the superheated wave of violet plasma.

The sickening stench of burnt flesh and ozone hung heavy in the thick, stagnant air.

Severed limbs, half-melted spiritual weapons, and pools of boiling blood littered the cracked earth, painting a horrific picture of instantaneous, unmitigated destruction.

A heavy, terrified silence fell over the gathered elders, broken only by the crackle of lingering divine flames and the frantic whispers of the crowd.

“What in the heavens happened here?!” an elder gasped, his voice trembling as he stared at a charred corpse. “How could a building be completely vaporized in an instant?!”

“Look at the stone… it’s turned to liquid glass!” another grand elder whispered nervously, looking around with wide, paranoid eyes.

“This was a divine-level battle! But how?! How could a clash of this magnitude occur right in the center of our sect without any of us sensing a single wave of spiritual energy until the final explosion?”

“Where were the guards? Where were the wardens?!”

“Was the sect infiltrated by an enemy army?!”

The elders whispered frantically amongst themselves, their minds reeling from the sheer impossibility of the event.

To fight a battle capable of tearing the mountain bedrock apart without leaking a single sound until the building collapsed meant that an absolute master of spatial manipulation had isolated the entire area from the rest of the world.

Standing at the front of the crowd, Sect Leader Mao Zedian was the most deeply rattled of all.

Cold sweat drenched his embroidered robes as his heart hammered violently against his ribs.

He didn’t care about the destroyed building, nor did he care about the handful of dead outer disciples.

His mind was entirely consumed by a single, terrifying thought:

High Priest Arnold.

The leader of the Church of the God of the Sky’s investigative delegation was staying inside that very pavilion.

If the High Priest of a holy church had been slaughtered inside the heart of the Glorious Mythical Sect, Cardinal Ryoger’s incoming holy legion would not just investigate—they would raze the entire Glorious Mythical Sect to the ground in retribution!

“Search the rubble!” Sect Leader Mao bellowed, his voice laced with suppressed panic. “Find High Priest Arnold! Search every inch of this—”

“S-Sect Leader! Look up there!” a young disciple suddenly shrieked, pointing a shaking finger into the sky above the smoking crater.

Every single eye in the courtyard instantly snapped upward.

Hovering silently in the open sky, bathed in the pale moonlight, was a solitary figure.

He stood motionless with his arms folded neatly behind his back, his posture rigid and commanding.

The cool night wind rustled the hem of his long, luxurious white-and-gold holy cloak—the distinct, unmistakable garment worn exclusively by High Priest Arnold.

Seeing the iconic holy cloak, Sect Leader Mao let out a massive, audible sigh of relief.

His tense shoulders relaxed, and a weak, nervous smile returned to his face.

“He’s alive… thank the heavens, he survived!” Sect Leader Mao muttered to himself.

Without wasting another second, Sect Leader Mao kicked off the stone ridge, his body rising smoothly into the air as he flew up to meet the cleric.

“High Priest Arnold!” Sect Leader Mao called out warmly as he closed the distance, extending his hands in a respectful, defensive bow. “Thank goodness you are unharmed! We felt the shockwave from our chambers and rushed over as quickly as we could! What on earth transpired here? Were you ambushed by—”

Sect Leader Mao’s voice died in his throat.

He came to a complete halt ten paces away from the figure, and the welcoming smile on his face instantly shattered, replaced by a expression of pure, unadulterated horror.

The man standing inside High Priest Arnold’s cloak was no longer human.

The hyper-muscular, shirtless torso was covered in glowing, pulsating veins of dark violet light. But most terrifying of all was his face.

High Priest Arnold’s handsome, refined features had completely collapsed inward, his human eyes, nose, and mouth warping into a grotesque, fleshy mass.

In the exact center of his forehead sat a single, massive, cyclopean eye.

The single eye burned with a brilliant, predatory orange radiance, its vertical slit iris tracking Mao’s movement with terrifying, alien precision.

This horrifying mutation was the direct result of Mauresis, the Angel of Dawn, losing his composure during his fight against Manuses and Croak.

Enraged by two mere mortals dodging his attacks, Mauresis had drawn upon far more divine essence than High Priest Arnold’s mortal vessel could safely contain.

The vast, unyielding power of a King-tier Angel was actively eroding the mortal meat, forcing the divine imprint of the angel’s true form to manifest prematurely.

The vessel was rapidly mutating, breaking down to make way for the angel’s full, terrifying physical ascension.

Instinctive, primal terror seized Sect Leader Mao.

He violently recoiled, blasting backward twenty paces as his spiritual mana flared up in a desperate defensive barrier.

“W-What are you?!” Sect Leader Mao screamed, his voice cracking with sheer panic as he pointed his trembling finger at the monstrosity.

“You… you are not High Priest Arnold! Why are you wearing his holy cloak?! Where is the High Priest? What have you done with him?!”

The single orange eye on the entity’s face blinked slowly, its vertical iris contracting as it looked down at the terrified sect leader.

Mauresis exhaled a long, heavy sigh, the sound echoing like pressurized steam escaping an engine.

When he spoke, his voice was no longer human, nor was it Arnold’s—it was a deep, thunderous, multi-layered chime that resonated directly inside the skulls of every cultivator on the ground below.

“Calm yourself, mortal,” the Angel of Dawn spoke smoothly, his tone cold and detached. “I am Mauresis, a sacred blade and servant of the God of the Sky.”

The single orange eye flickered with a dim, violet light as the entity continued his explanation.

“The man you knew as High Priest Arnold was ambushed within his private chambers by the vile, demonic commanders of the Church of the God of Beast.

Facing certain death, he devoutly offered his flesh and soul as a vessel to allow my divine essence to descend and protect his cause.”

Mauresis glanced down at the smoking crater below before looking back at Mao. “I engaged the heretics in battle mere moments ago.

Regrettably, in the heat of the clash, I failed to fully restrain the magnitude of my divine authority, resulting in the unfortunate destruction of your structural property and the death of your young disciples.”

Sect Leader Mao stood frozen in the air, his mouth agape as he processed the divine entity’s booming words.

Mauresis raised a single gauntleted hand, making a dismissive gesture toward the panicked crowd of elders below.

“This sect need not interfere with the events that are about to unfold,” Mauresis declared coldly, his booming voice carrying a weight that forced several weak-willed disciples to drop to their knees.

“The cowardly followers of the God of Beast have slunk back into the shadows of these mountains once again. I shall now proceed to uproot their roots and cleanse this entire province in divine fire.”

Down amidst the crowd of shocked elders standing on the cracked earth, one elderly figure stood with his hands neatly tucked into his dark, flowing sleeves.

It was the Peerless Supreme Elder.

As the gathered cultivators gasped and whispered in terror at the sight of the one-eyed divine angel hovering in the sky, a subtle, cold, and immensely evil grin curled across Roy’s withered lips.

‘Perfect,’ Roy thought, his dark eyes sparkling with sadistic delight as he watched the mutated angel fall directly into his trap.

‘Expose your monstrosity to the world, puppet.’

‘Let everyone see the ‘blessing’ of the Sky God… and watch how quickly their faith burns to ash.’