I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

The Demonic Sword pierced through Salvius—and kept going, impaling him through the magical barrier behind. The barrier screeched, warping under the raw, violent surge of power channeled through the blade. Flames of black and crimson danced along its edge.

And then—

BADOOOOOOM!!!

The air trembled with a silent dread as the enormous cylindrical barrier that had encased the legendary Pharos of Alexandria began to fracture. Thin, glowing cracks laced across its ancient surface like veins of light spidering through crystal. Then, with a soundless eruption that seemed to mute the world itself for a single heartbeat, the entire barrier burst outward—shattering like fragile glass caught in a tempest.

The shards disintegrated into motes of fading energy before they even hit the ground, leaving only astonished silence in their wake.

All around, the soldiers and mages stationed to guard the sacred beacon stared upward in stupefied horror. Even those within the protective boundary, who had stood inside the mighty magical ward believed to be unbreakable, were frozen in place—some with mouths agape, others slowly stepping back as though distance might make the reality less true.

It was inconceivable.

That barrier had stood strong since the days of Alexander the Great. Forged through divine blessings and ancient arts lost to time, it had repelled countless invaders and cataclysms for centuries. Its fall should have been impossible.

And yet it had happened—effortlessly.

All eyes turned, almost unwillingly, toward the figure responsible.

A man stood alone, white-haired and regal, as still as a sculpture carved from winter. His crimson eyes—glowing with an eerie, detached intensity—met no one’s gaze. There was no pride in them, no triumph, no satisfaction. Only an abyssal coldness, an indifference that chilled the soul more than any wind.

To him, this feat had been unremarkable. A mere action, devoid of emotion.

Nathan didn’t even acknowledge the stunned crowd. His focus was locked solely on the Pharos before him, where flames licked toward the heavens—brilliant and furious, as though trying to warn the gods themselves of what was to come.

Before proceeding, his gaze briefly shifted. Across the distant cityscape, the castle came into view.

From where he stood, he could already see the chaos beginning. Caesar’s forces, relentless and well-coordinated, had begun to flood into the stronghold. Clashes of steel rang faintly through the air, muffled by distance but clear enough to forecast a swift conquest.

Time was slipping away.

Nathan turned back toward the tower.

It had to be obliterated.

With deliberate slowness, he raised his blade—a fearsome, black-edged weapon known only to the darkest of chronicles: a Demonic Sword, forged in the deep hollows of cursed realms. As his magic surged into the weapon, the air around him warped and hissed. The sword began to tremble, as though straining to contain the immense power coursing through it.

Any ordinary weapon would have shattered. But this one was no ordinary blade.

As Nathan summoned his strength, the sky dimmed unnaturally. The atmosphere thickened, and shadows began to stretch and coil like living things.

Dark magic bloomed outward, condensing behind Nathan into a massive, monstrous silhouette.

A hulking demon took form, its eyes burning like twin suns of damnation, its wings unfurling with a deafening screech that echoed across the coastline.

Gasps erupted among the guards.

“W-What is that?!”

“A demon…!”

“No—It’s Apep! Run! It’s the Serpent of the End!”

“The God of Apocalypse has come for us!”

Panic struck like lightning.

The soldiers who moments ago stood proud to guard one of the most sacred monuments in Alexandria now turned tail, throwing down their weapons and fleeing for their lives. Some screamed prayers. Others fell to their knees in despair before scrambling away.

They no longer believed Nathan was human.

How could he be?

No mortal could command such power.

No mortal could summon what stood behind him.

To them, Nathan was an incarnation of their darkest legends—an evil god, descended from the heavens to bring ruin.

And Nathan welcomed their ignorance. Let them run. Let them cower.

He didn’t need insects buzzing in his ears while he worked.

The moment was here.

“Celestial-Rank Magic of Darkness,” he murmured under his breath. His voice was quiet, but the words carried weight—a resonance that rippled through reality.

Raising his Demonic Sword, he pointed it toward the Pharos.

“Destroy it.”

At that command, the demon roared and surged forward, a streak of darkness and rage. The very earth quaked beneath its charge. In the blink of an eye, it reached the base of the Pharos and engulfed the entire structure in a cyclone of shadow.

The fire that once crowned the tower—the eternal flame that had burned for generations—was snuffed out in an instant, vanishing into the suffocating embrace of pure darkness.

For a moment, there was only silence.

The kind of silence that made the world feel frozen in time—pregnant with dread, suspended in the breath before calamity.

Everyone stood still. Even the air seemed to hesitate.

They stared at the once-beautiful Pharos of Alexandria, now swallowed entirely in a vortex of writhing darkness. The proud tower, a marvel of ancient craftsmanship and divine engineering, had been enveloped by shadow so dense it felt like night had descended upon it alone.

Then…

BADOOOOOM!

A thunderous explosion shattered the quiet.

The darkness that had smothered the Pharos surged outward like an erupting volcano. From within, the entire tower burst into countless pieces—ripped apart from the inside. The explosion wasn’t just destructive; it was cataclysmic. A force so complete it unmade the structure on a molecular level, obliterating it as if it had never existed.

Onlookers recoiled in horror, watching debris scatter across the land and sea. But what truly unsettled them was the monstrous vision they imagined behind the destruction: the great demon of darkness devouring the Pharos whole, consuming its soul before letting its remains burst apart like a defiled sacrament.

Nathan stood at the edge of the devastation, his white hair fluttering in the wind, eyes unmoving.

His expression remained unreadable. Cold. Detached. Focused.

He peered into the void where the towering monument had stood just seconds earlier. There was nothing left—only a smoldering crater of stone, ash, and silence.

But then, something caught his attention.

His gaze dropped lower. Deep within the shattered foundation of the Pharos, something glowed.

A pillar—golden, radiant, and ancient—stood intact amidst the destruction. It pulsed softly with divine light, as though mocking the darkness that had failed to touch it.

Nathan’s eyes narrowed.

So that was it.

The true secret hidden beneath the Pharos of Alexandria.

Not just a monument to guide ships. Not merely a symbol of power.

It was a divine conduit—a beacon to call upon the gods of the Egyptian Pantheon in times of dire need. A forgotten weapon forged not by men, but by gods themselves. Its presence explained much. Why Cleopatra had been so protective. Why even Caesar hesitated to strike first. Why Nathan himself had felt a faint prickle of unease the moment he arrived.

That golden pillar was divine.

And it was dangerous.

A divine artifact, activated in desperation—no doubt by Ptolemy the moment Caesar’s army appeared on the horizon.

Nathan didn’t waste a moment.

His hand reached behind his back and drew a sword unlike any other—a weapon that gleamed with ancient majesty and unspoken power.

The Sword of Alexander the Great.

Crafted from the same divine material as the golden pillar, forged by the will of gods, and meant only for those who transcended mortality. Only a demigod could wield it. Only someone touched by the divine flame.

And Nathan was more than just a man.

As he tightened his grip, the blade resonated with his mana, glowing with a silver hue that turned blue-black under the light of his own darkness.

Without a sound, he shot downward—an arrow of intent.

The wind howled around him as he accelerated, aiming directly for the golden pillar. Already, the divine structure had begun to shine brighter. Lines of light ran across its surface, ancient hieroglyphs igniting one by one in response to the sacrificial call it had received.

There was no time.

Nathan raised the sword high above his head, channeling every remaining thread of mana into it.

As he neared the pillar—less than a meter away—he struck.

CRAAACK!

BADOOOOOOM!

The collision was thunderous.

The sword met divine metal with a blinding flash. A shockwave erupted outward, shaking the coastline and splitting the earth beneath them. The pillar resisted—it pushed back with power not meant for mortals to comprehend.

Nathan’s arm screamed in agony as divine backlash tore through his nerves. His skin split, blood bursting forth, and for a moment he felt his bones give way under the strain.

But he did not relent.

With a roar that tore itself from his lungs, Nathan summoned his darkness, wrapping it around his broken arm like armor, like a second limb forged of hatred and pain.

“GARHHH!!!” he bellowed, and brought the sword crashing down once more.

Cracks splintered across the pillar. Then, all at once—

It crumbled.

The golden structure dissolved into dust—fine, sparkling dust that floated into the air before being devoured by the wind.

Nathan fell to one knee, gasping for air.

The impact had drained nearly every drop of mana he possessed. His body trembled from the strain. His arm hung limp, ruined despite the magic shielding it. His vision swam.

That… had been divine power.

And it had nearly cost him everything.

But it was done.

The threat beneath the Pharos was gone. The gods could no longer be summoned through this beacon.

“I need to return,” Nathan muttered, voice hoarse. “Make sure Caesar’s forces have taken the castle…”

He turned, preparing to launch himself skyward.

But then—he froze.

His entire body screamed in warning.

A wave of pressure descended upon the land, ancient and crushing. Nathan’s breath hitched. His instincts howled in alarm.

He raised his eyes to the sky.

The once-clear heavens had twisted into a churning vortex of black clouds. The light was gone, devoured by an overwhelming force that was not his own. Lightning cracked across the horizon, not in gold or white—but in deep crimson, like the blood of creation itself.

This wasn’t his magic.

This wasn’t anything of this world.

Nathan’s face hardened.

He was too late.

Despite his efforts, despite the destruction of the pillar—

A god had answered.

A god had come.

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