After Lola entered, the rest of the generals managed to slip through the gates without incident. Even Ralia Amia, the empath assassin, whose very presence often rippled the emotional current of a crowd, breezed past with her mask firm and her movements disciplined. No one suspected a thing.
However, the gatekeeper had his eyes on Lola, something didn't quite sit well with him.
Whenever he looked at this —"eh is it a man or woman", he was also very puzzled! "A cursed relic come to life?"
The robe was standard. The mask was crude like the others. The voice—thick as swampwater—rumbled with a baritone so deep it made thunder sound like a squeaky flute.
And yet...
The poise, the grace, the way the hips dared the robe to hide them—none of it screamed 'man.'
It screamed: divine confusion.
It screamed: the kind of problem you don't poke if you like your face unburnt.
Still, the gatekeeper let the final initiate through, sealing the heavy entrance behind them. The door thudded with finality. Hidden guards took their stations like silent ghosts, their shadows melting into crevices and rooftops, vanishing from the visible world.
Beyond the gate lay an open, circular arena—an eerie stone courtyard laced with crimson markings and foul-smelling torches.
All new initiates were herded into the center. Packed tight. Silent. Still clutching the unconscious children in their arms.
They weren't told why.
They weren't told how long.
They were just… told to wait.
Josh and his generals, scattered among the crowd, maintained their disguise. But confusion buzzed beneath their masks.
Josh narrowed his eyes.
"What are we waiting for? A speech? A sacrifice? A raffle draw from hell?"
As the crowd stood, most of the new initiates knew what they were waiting for, except for Josh and his generals who were confused about the long wait.
They knew that this wait was very intentional and was a test. Anyone who sat down was disregarding the golden toad and that was something that brought the wrath of his followers.
Most of the mages here are new, and have come because they were invited. They wanted to come and gain power and quick rise in their cultivation level by the help of the potion that the golden toad would make for them. The key ingredient was a child that was why they all had a child in their arms.
They had been told to not sit down or rest their legs until the golden toad shows up, so many were enduring the discomfort for standing for so long.
However, as confused as Josh and his generals were at the moment, they had to be careful not to give anything away.
Time passed.
An hour.
Some began to fidget. Others stood stiff, legs throbbing, toes numb. The more experienced cultists didn't move an inch.
Two hours.
Josh's senses picked up the tension. There was fear in the air. Not from the wait—but from what would happen if they failed the wait.
The reason became clear in murmurs and whispers: this was a test. A silent trial of devotion. A purge.
No one was allowed to rest, sit, or ease their burden. This wasn't just a welcome ceremony—it was a selection.
Lola glanced around, brow twitching beneath her mask.
Her thighs ached. Her calves whispered promises of rebellion. Her whole body wanted to sit. But something was off. Way off.
> "These freaks are seriously playing statue?"
"Even the guy with the twitching eye hasn't blinked."
"Fine. Be statues. I'm not getting acid-bathed today."
She gritted her teeth, willing the pain away.
Lola was tempted to seat, but looking around, she could tell that something fishy was going on and no one was sitting which was intentional. It was a deliberate effort on their part.
"Should I sit... It seems these guys are genuinely attempting not to sit, like it was what they planned to do or is there more to it?" Lola thought as she looked around.
But not everyone had that restraint.
A young mage near her—sweating, pale, and trembling like a twig in a storm—broke. His legs gave way, and he collapsed with a grateful sigh, hugging the unconscious child closer as if that might help.
Big mistake.
The air shifted.
A low hum—subtle at first—rose above his head as a glowing rune rotated into existence, hovering ominously like a judge's gavel.
He had only a second to look up.
Then—SSHHHHAAAAAA!
A searing green fluid poured from the rune—burning, acidic, alive. The moment it touched his scalp, it ignited a chain reaction. The scream never fully formed.
He dissolved.
Not fell. Not burned.
He disappeared into powder—like the memory of someone never born.
The unconscious child floated momentarily, untouched, before being snatched away by a silent attendant in black.
The crowd went dead still.
Even the wind held its breath.
Everyone had seen.
No one needed reminding.
Josh barely blinked. His generals remained rigid. Lola whispered beneath her breath,
"Okay... nope. Not even blinking now."
And then—as if on cue—a ripple moved through the courtyard.
Something wet slapped against the stone.
The crowd turned.
And then—he appeared.
The Golden Toad.
He didn't walk.
He didn't float.
He slithered—oozing across the slick obsidian floor like royalty on rot.
Not fast. Not slow. But with the calculated elegance of something ancient, repulsive, and absolutely certain of its supremacy.
His skin shimmered with the illusion of opulence—a molten gold crust, cracked and flaking like spoiled treasure. Every scale writhed faintly, as if something alive squirmed beneath. His eyes—bulbous, wet, and glistening—bulged unnaturally, scanning the crowd with a gaze so penetrating it felt like it peeled back skin and soul.
A heavy black robe trailed behind him—stitched together from what looked like tiny, twitching bones, each one squirming subtly as though still trying to escape the thread that bound them.
He ascended to a high, slimy platform overlooking the initiates. From there, his presence loomed like a grotesque mural come to life—half god, half nightmare.
The entire crowd exhaled in shaky unison, relief mingled with terror, like survivors after a silent execution.
Josh, watching through the slits of his mask, narrowed his eyes.
— So that's the beast behind all this.
He could feel it: a greasy, dark aura radiating from the creature like smoke from a festering wound. And beneath it—something terrifyingly familiar.
—Scarlet Raven vibes, Josh thought grimly.
That same slick, narcissistic devilish tendencies. That same theatrical cruelty… wrapped in skin and ego.
The Toad opened its mouth.
It wasn't just a croak—it was an event. A deep, gurgling, stomach-turning sound that resonated from three places at once: his throat, his stomach, and somewhere that felt distinctly magical and wrong.
Then it spoke. And that was somehow worse.
"Weeeelcome, children of ambition…"
Its voice was syrupy and wet, as if every word had to crawl through mucus before reaching the air.
"…You've passed my little… initiation test. Congratulations…"
It let out a croaking laugh, the sound of a dying frog choking on silver coins.
Some in the crowd chuckled nervously. Others dared not even blink.
Josh didn't move.
—So this is the god they worship? A bloated, gold-crusted leech pretending to be divine?
He clenched his jaw behind the mask, his grip on the unconscious child tightening subtly.
He muttered beneath his breath, his voice little more than the promise of a coming storm.
"Stupid toad… I'm going to end your slimy fairytale life."
He said it so softly, even the wind didn't hear—but the rage behind it was loud enough to shake the heavens.