Storm Strider 2: A LitRPG Fantasy Adventure by Maradina

Author:Maradina [Maradina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2025-12-27T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter twenty-two

The Great Worm God

Tucked away in a small, abandoned alley a good thirty minutes’ walk away from the bustling residential district, a cathedral made out of pure, uncorrupted alabaster loomed.

Not a soul wandered this section of the city. The sharp, cold air stung Marisol’s cheeks, and there were only the faint sounds of rain and waves breaking against the harbors below. The cathedral gleamed like polished bone under moonlight, and every detail—every arched window, carved saint, and worm-patterned relief—were sharpened by the silvery glow. It was a beautiful building with decades of history to be sure, but the killing pressure radiating from behind the heavy alabaster doors pressed against her chest, making it hard to breathe.

This is… his aura?

[A fraction of it. There is a reason why he lives alone in this part of the city.]

[Now go in.]

She hesitated, cold rain pitter-pattering against her shoulders, but Victor strode right forward and the double doors creaked open automatically. The killing pressure intensified. She winced and slid back unconsciously, her body moving on its own, and Victor had to grab her by the wrist before yanking her in. She would’ve slid down the street without her knowing it otherwise.

The moment she got out of the rain, the double doors slammed shut behind her automatically.

… It’s even colder here.

The cathedral was vast, almost cavernous in nature, and it was lit only by pale moonlight filtering through cracked, stained-glass windows. Rows of empty pews lined the hall, the wood warped and darkened by time. Tall alabaster columns rose by the sides, their surfaces etched with faded carvings of worms, while their shadows stretched across the floor, solid like actual pools of oil. There was no in-between. Either the cathedral was extremely well lit or not at all; either she endured the freezing temperature, or she didn’t endure anything at all.

Hugging herself, teeth chittering, shivering from head to toe, she stayed by the entrance and tried to breathe. Tried to think. Carved entirely out of even more alabaster, a throne made of twisted petrified worms sat on a raised dais at the end of the hall, and the boy sitting on it was unnervingly still—because he was the source of the killing pressure.

White hair spilled over his face, framing soft, delicate features. Silvery veins ran under his pale biometal skin, glimmering like stars. Draped over his shoulders was a cape made of woven diamond flowers, and he had nothing more than plain trousers underneath. His chest was bare. His feet were bare, resting lightly against the dais as though he hadn’t moved in years, and that was because he probably hadn’t moved in years.

His eyes were closed, his cheek was propped up by a hand on an armrest. He was deep in slumber, and Marisol didn’t even want to wonder what sort of dreams or nightmares the strongest human in the world had to grapple with.

Could he even dream?

Could he even suffer from nightmares?

As Victor trudged forward, walking cane clacking softly against the hard

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