My God domain is the endless abyss Chapter 75: True Zerg

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Previously on My God domain is the endless abyss...
Cillian subjects a brain worm to intense conceptual pain, forcing it to confront its own desire to live. The brain worm questions Cillian's motives for granting it intelligence, to which Cillian reveals it was a whim and its value lies in the information it holds. Cillian then learns from the brain worm that all Zerg are essentially fragments of a single Hive Mind, meaning the entire swarm can never truly be extinguished as long as one 'bug' survives. Meanwhile, in a separate location, the Angel of Punishment Peter is frustrated by the Zerg's resilience, as their Hive Mind seems to regenerate after each attack, leading to an endless war. He laments the loss of their capacity for research and discovery.
"Damn it, that idiot..." Pete's jaw clenched, his thoughts flying back to the visage of the Venerable One on top of Heavens Mountain. The recollection of his tutelage within the Sea of Souls on Heavenly Mountain surged back with striking clarity. Within Paradise, every being, even the gods, harbored secret weaknesses in their spiritual seas. These defects were known throughout the divine world, yet their true nature remained a mystery. Only the Venerable One, who held dominion over the heart of Paradise Mountain, comprehended the precise extent of these imperfections. Pete, the Angel of Punishment, was acutely aware of his own failing: the inability to learn. Despite this knowledge, he found himself incapable of integrating this deficiency into the very fabric of Heaven's derivatives. What he and the other angels truly lacked wasn't merely the capacity for acquiring new information. It was imagination—the spark to invent new technologies, to innovate, to forge new paths of thought. Their minds were constrained, their learning already perfected unto finality. A profound shackle lay within Pete's psyche, a heightened iteration of the "Seal of the Mind." This was no mere figure of speech; it was an actual, artificial command etched into his very soul. Beneath the angels, the rank-and-file soldiers of the Heavenly Army, those who never achieved legendary status, still possessed a faint trace of the ability to learn. They could grasp commands, operate weaponry, and even utilize rudimentary technology. After all, if they couldn't manage firearms or mechs, the Heavenly Army would be a cosmic farce. Yet, even their purported learning was not genuine. It was mimicry, rote memorization, a manufactured form of comprehension. And it all stemmed from their unique genesis. Two distinct forms of birth existed within Paradise. The first was viviparous birth, resulting in humanoid warriors emerging from conventional families. Their destinies were predetermined before their initial breath. From the moment their eyes opened, they were designated as soldiers, or more accurately, officers. Their role was not to engage in front-line combat but to act as conduits for command, facilitating the flow of orders between companies, divisions, and various echelons. Their education was extraordinarily stringent. From infancy, they were enrolled in the Academy of War Angels. For thirty arduous years, they were subjected to relentless drills in combat theory, battlefield strategy, and the hallowed doctrines of Paradise. During this period, they underwent extensive body-enhancement surgeries, reshaping their skeletal structures and fortifying their nervous systems, molding them into living instruments of absolute obedience. Upon their graduation from the academy, they were no longer human in spirit or thought. They had become perfected killers, masters of innumerable tactics, trained to calculate demise with chilling precision, capable of dissecting battlefields with the cold efficiency of machines. In service to orders, they could annihilate infants without a flicker of hesitation. For the sake of victory, they could consign entire worlds to flames. To them, life, in any form, was utterly devoid of meaning. Even their own existence held no value beyond its utility in service. Their sole purpose was unequivocal: to propagate Heaven's dominion and disseminate its divine gospel throughout all existing realms. They were not men, not in any recognizable, natural sense of the word. The second category, however, was even more unsettling. These were the biochemical soldiers, the mass-produced warriors of the Heavenly Army. Unlike their viviparously born counterparts, they did not emerge from mothers but were engineered in sterile vats through cutting-edge cloning and biotechnological processes. Their creation cycle concluded within a mere month. During this brief period, their nascent minds were inundated with knowledge via colossal neural machines. Every fragment of their understanding, from the sacred scriptures originating from Heavens Mountain to the operational protocols for mechs and cannons, was directly uploaded into their brains, akin to digital data. Their so-called "education" was not learning but pure programming. Their consciousness functioned as a system booting up with a primary directive set for war. Their emotional faculties were maintained in a state of partial activity—sufficient to ensure obedience, yet subdued enough to prevent any questioning of orders. In contrast to the officers, their physical enhancements were integrated during the embryonic stage, hardwired into their genetic code. Once completed, their power levels stabilized between Stage 3 and Stage 5, with variations determined by their longevity and the degree to which their mechs evolved alongside them. These soldiers did not ponder; they executed. Paradise was a misnomer; it was anything but a sanctuary. It was a colossal factory, a brainwashing forge meticulously crafting perfect adherents to divine order. Every entity conceived within its confines, be it natural-born or cloned, served as another cog in its immense machinery. Their inherent flaws within their spiritual seas did not impede their combat effectiveness. On the contrary, these very imperfections honed them into ideal instruments of war. They were devoid of doubt, empathy, and imagination—three crucial elements that could shatter the facade of unwavering obedience. Yet, even this revelation represented only the surface of a far deeper truth. For within the confines of Paradise existed one final stratum, the genuine angels.

The angels, distinct from the warriors and officers of the Heavenly Army, represented an entirely different order of being. The chasm separating them was far greater than that between humans and beasts, or even between humans and insects. These were the nobles of Heavens Mountain, their authority inherent, not earned. Every angel entered existence already possessing Legendary-level power. Above them were demigod and spirit-ranked angels, their wings radiating the very essence of cosmic laws. Peter and his companions belonged to this supreme echelon, wielding power that dwarfed common gods, utilizing not symbolic divinity but genuine divine fire. Collectively, these perfect beings constituted the expanding vanguard of Heavens Mountain, a legion of purity projecting its radiance across the vast void.

⸻———x——————

In the ongoing war, the magnificent legions from Paradise Mountain had decimated nearly seventy percent of the Zerg hive. The heavens blazed with celestial light, and the ground was a mire of ichor. Yet, despite their relentless assault, the remaining thirty percent stubbornly refused to perish. This was not due to a lack of ammunition, nor exhaustion, nor a waning will. The dwindling Zerg swarm was undergoing rapid mutation, reproduction, and evolution. Their numbers surged faster than they could be exterminated, their forms morphing with each new generation, adapting to counter every divine assault. Across the distant, desolate expanses, countless eggs began to fracture. From within emerged entities Cillian had never witnessed before, beings of utterly distinct, alien, and unsettlingly novel designs. The Zerg were transforming before their very eyes. What was the Zerg race’s most significant asset? Was it the sheer, overwhelming number of warriors capable of crushing any foe, or perhaps their terrifying capacity for environmental adaptation? In truth, neither of these assertions held water. The genuine Zerg were the Void Zerg encountered by Cillian, Peter, and their companions. Their most critical advantage resided deep within their very beings—in their ichor, in their genetic code. This advantage was their unparalleled capacity for transformation, though for these Voidlings, the term 'evolution' felt somewhat inadequate. 'Evolution' typically implies organisms gradually adapting to their environment through mutation. The Zerg, however, simply activated latent genes within their bodies. The Zerg weren't truly 'evolving' in the conventional sense by developing new cells or undergoing genetic mutation; rather, they were activating pre-existing genetic sequences. What they engaged in was less 'Evolution' and more accurately termed 'Transformation'.

——————x——————

"By the heavens, what is this monstrosity?" a Heavenly Army commander exclaimed, his voice laced with utter disbelief. "Could this also be a Zerg?!" Before his very position, colossal beetles, each the size of Titans, were voraciously consuming the drained husks of fallen Heavenly soldiers, behaving like ravenous beasts. Their mouths were grotesquely protruded, vaguely resembling pig snouts but far more unnatural, extending into deep, spiraling maws crammed with countless layers of razor-sharp teeth. Even as they fed, tearing into the mangled corpses, torrents of ichor erupted from their gullets, streaking down their armored carapaces like rivers of crimson. The outer edges of their spiral jaws were adorned with serrated fangs, each one as thick as a citadel tower. Even from a distance, the commander could estimate their horrifying scale; the exposed serrations on these kilometer-tall behemoths measured hundreds of meters in length. If it were merely their staggering size, he might not have been so profoundly disturbed. However, every aspect of these Titan-class Zerg defied comprehension. Their immense bodies were encased in overlapping plates of chitin, each segment fractured and grooved like the desiccated riverbeds of a long-dead world. Beneath this formidable armor, their limbs throbbed with immense power. With every impact of their colossal legs upon the earth, the ground convulsed violently, leaving behind craters large enough to swallow entire platoons. No living organism should have been capable of supporting such immense mass, yet these abominations stood, their movements unnervingly fluid despite their gargantuan dimensions. It was in that moment the commander finally grasped the horrifying truth: this was why the preceding unit had simply vanished. These were not adversaries for mortals to confront. "Open fire! Followers of the Angels!" Despite the encroaching despair, the commander’s voice remained resolute. He did not falter, nor did his soldiers show any sign of wavering. Not a single warrior under his command displayed even a flicker of fear. Such was the unwavering constitution of the Heavenly Army. They were the soldiers of Heaven, the devoted attendants of the angels, forged and destined to fight in the sacred name of Heaven. To them, death was not an end, but a mere formality, a fleeting interlude in their eternal service.

Not even their commanders were truly tethered to mortal lives. Their souls, directly linked to the celestial beings, would merely experience rebirth beyond the battlefield. As for their bio-engineered soldiers, they were endlessly replaceable assets.

Without a moment's hesitation, the troops brought their standard rifles to bear, unleashing a synchronized volley of fire.

A torrent of bullets cascaded upon the monstrous beetle-like creatures, causing sparks to erupt across their hardened exoskeletons. The sharp crackle of gunfire resonated through the expanse of the battlefield, a stark contrast of metal against living stone, yet the impact proved to be distressingly superficial. The ammunition barely managed to mar their surfaces.

Pairs of multifaceted eyes swiveled downwards from the sky.

"..."

A chill ran down the commander's spine. Without losing another second, he activated his communicator and began his urgent transmission.

"Requesting immediate reinforcement! Unidentified Titan-class Zerg, I repeat, Titan-class Zerg! We are outmatched, divine-grade reinforcements are required now!"

Even as the words left his lips, he understood the grim reality. He could expend every last round, sacrifice every soldier under his command, and it would ultimately signify nothing. These abominations were far beyond anything the local forces could possibly hope to subdue.

However, the unfortunate commander had no inkling of what the emergence of these entities truly signified.

"Warning: Hostile creature detected at peak legendary level on Battlefield 112478."

Within Peter's command center, Maeve's voice calmly echoed through the operational chamber.

Peter remained engrossed in his console, not even glancing upwards.

To the deities of Paradise, creatures of such a considerable caliber were barely worthy of notice. While legendary entities posed a danger, they were quite common. Peter himself oversaw several thousand such beings stationed solely within the Heavenly Mountain sector.

In his perception, Maeve's alert registered as little more than ambient noise.

But then, Maeve's voice resonated once more.

"Number of hostile legendary peak-level creatures: 378."

Peter's composed expression began to crack.

"Update: 377 confirmed. Our angels have engaged."

Maeve continued her report with an unwavering, smooth, mechanical tone.

"Warning: Hostile demigod-level creature detected on Battlefield 165527. Number of hostile demigod-level creatures: 241."

Peter slowly straightened, his former composure dissolving into sheer disbelief.

Abruptly, Maeve's optical sensors flashed red. Cascades of data streamed across the display walls, and her voice fractured, losing its monotone quality and becoming tinged with urgency.

"Warning! Warning! Enemy presence confirmed on Battlefield 026797... new readings detected... updating threat index..."

Dozens of alarms blared simultaneously throughout the command center. The very air vibrated with the cacophony of mechanical sirens, the deep hum of holy engines, and the incessant, rapid beeping of processors running at extreme capacity.

Peter's gaze flickered frantically across the myriad displays, but the sheer numbers presented were incomprehensible.

Approximately twelve minutes later, Maeve completed her recalibration and delivered her final assessment in a voice chillingly devoid of emotion.

"Total number of hostile entities exceeding legendary level: one hundred thirty million."

A heavy silence descended upon the entire room.

"Five thousand six hundred unique species identified."

"All classified as insectoid-type lifeforms."

"All confirmed to have hatched within the preceding fifteen minutes."

Peter’s eyes remained fixed on the holographic map, which had now shifted to a stark crimson hue. Sector by sector, the icons representing Heavenly outposts blinked out of existence, relentlessly consumed by encroaching waves of red.

The once innumerable hordes of lesser Zerg had diminished, with only a tenth of their prior population remaining. However, what had risen in their stead was something immeasurably more formidable than the original swarm.

It was as though the entirety of the Zerg race had abruptly awakened from a profound slumber.

It felt as though they had transitioned from the slow, expansive cadence of "standby" mode into the full, overwhelming force of "performance" mode.

This was their true, unadulterated form.

And for these newly awakened Zerg, the true war had only just commenced.