Multiverse: Deathstroke-Chapter 426: Goddess’s Tale

This feeling of magical energy pressing down on his body—Su Ming didn't like it.

Even with the Cloak of Levitation giving him decent magic resistance, and his armor laced with Nth Metal alloy, his body wasn't used to such high magic density—his heart kept feeling an odd squeeze.

It was like facing Vishanti last time.

But the Witch Mother's power was deeper, wilder—this chaotic force was like an untamed black stallion, galloping across a pitch-black wasteland.

You could only catch a blurry outline, but you couldn't grab it barehanded.

Up close with the Witch Mother, that sensation got real specific.

"Witch Mother, hear me out."

Su Ming didn't draw a weapon—pointless anyway; steel couldn't kill a concept. Better to act small, fish some intel out of her mouth.

In the plan, she wouldn't live long anyway—might as well let her enjoy her last hurrah as the goddess of witchcraft.

Hecate paused slightly, a bit puzzled.

This mortal had screwed up a lot of her plans, but lucky for her, she didn't yet know what Su Ming had done to that Raven Death God.

So, seeing this mortal's submissive stance, maybe he'd finally realized mortals couldn't fight gods. Hecate decided to kindly answer his question before he died.

Yes, to punish his earlier meddling, he had to die.

She toned down her feral grin a bit, trying for an elegant, dignified look—but it came off like the old hag handing Snow White that apple.

"Speak, mortal. I'll grant your dying wish."

Su Ming didn't care what she said. In his eyes, she was already dead—not a person, a dead concept.

"I've got a question. You must know the whole universe is teetering on death's edge—why pick this moment to reclaim your power?"

Hecate gazed back at him quietly. "The time for revenge? It's already way overdue."

"Revenge? Because the gods stole witchcraft from you?"

A terrifying look crossed the Witch Mother's withered face. "No, I gave them the power of witchcraft."

Then the Witch Mother told Su Ming a different version of the story.

At the universe's birth, she was there—symbol of 'mystery' and 'the moon.'

Back then, she was an innocent girl, free to roam the cosmos like it was her backyard.

One day, she neared her yard's edge and found a vaster world beyond the boundary.

It was full of world-altering forces—will, energy.

She dug a little hole in her yard's fence, pulling through powers both creative and destructive—the fire of witchcraft.

That power was too strong—it even changed her. The concept of 'mystery' she held got swapped out for 'witchcraft.'

While she toyed with her new power, crafting a beautiful world, she spotted something through the hole she'd dug—a terrifying, dark entity.

Too dark, beyond her imagination. She couldn't let something that horrific into her yard.

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So she plugged the big hole, locking witchcraft's dark side beyond the Source Wall.

She wanted a lovely world—no way was she letting that terror in.

She started reshaping the world with witchcraft, making everything better, but soon realized she was too slow on her own.

So she thought of the lifeforms on various planets—like some clever primates.

She shared bits of her power with them, letting them use it to build better homes.

Earth, favored by God, got extra attention—she poured more power there, giving humans the fire of witchcraft too.

Humans worshipped her at first, treating her as a co-creator, praising and flattering her.

Whether it was the first mammoth they hunted or the first edible wild fruit they found, they offered it up at her altar.

Her witchcraft helped humans beat mighty beasts outside; her witchcraft fueled civilization's rise.

She was thrilled—seeing humans thrive, she granted them even more power.

She'd started as just a concept, but she learned a lot from them.

Like building a humanoid body, or talking directly with humans—basically, she got more human-like.

That's when she created the first ancient sorcerers.

They lived by casting, wielding the strongest power in their tribes, gradually claiming the highest status.

Rulership in small tribes shifted from bloodlines to might-makes-right.

Zeus, back then, bent over backwards to please her—even swearing a blood oath that the whole Olympus tribe would dress like Hecate forever, just to make her smile and toss Olympus more perks.

Other tribes followed suit, copying her hairstyle, her mannerisms, her taste.

That slowly shaped the world's layout today.

Teenage Hecate was overjoyed. She gave those tribal leaders—those sorcerers—more power, turning them into gods.

Maybe after becoming gods and grabbing more power, they doubled down on buttering her up, hoping she'd join their pantheons. She was the strongest—one of her worth all of them combined.

Since Zeus's ass-kissing skills were top-tier, and he seemed to value her most, she picked Olympus out of thousands of tribes, getting engaged to Zeus's brother, Hades.

She changed her look, maturing it—gaining the second of her three faces, the beautiful matron.

She figured helping her husband run an Underworld called for a slightly stern vibe.

Zeus kept sucking up at first. Back then in Olympus, Hecate, goddess of magic, outranked even King Zeus.

But after a while, Zeus noticed Hecate wouldn't cough up more power.

Hecate thought they had plenty already—enough to change the world and then some. Why need more?

She didn't get human greed. Zeus, once human, and the other gods—they all had it.

They wanted to wipe out their rivals, become Earth's sole rulers.

Then the 'Prometheus' secret alliance formed—made up of head gods from every pantheon. They set a trap, begging Hecate to descend, then used God's power to cage her.

They treated her like a battery, siphoning witchcraft's fire from her for themselves.

Hecate couldn't break God's might. She could only weep daily, praying her fiancé would save her.

Centuries later, Hades finally showed—not to rescue her, but to say he was marrying his niece, Persephone.

Hecate's last shred of hope shattered. Darkness filled her heart.

But somehow, that darkness and despair resonated with the witchcraft inside her. Her power exploded—she finally understood this force, called magic by humans,

came from darkness and thrived on a dark heart.

She busted out of the circle trapping her. By then, her power was second only to God Himself—those God-touched relics couldn't hold her anymore.

She gained her third face—the vengeful crone—becoming the Triple Goddess.

She stormed Olympus, set to destroy all gods—not just Olympus, all gods.

Every god showed up, trembling before her, groveling for mercy.

Zeus sprawled like a dead dog, belly-crawling to lick her toes. Hades killed Persephone on the spot, swearing he only loved Hecate. Poseidon and Hera kept yapping about a misunderstanding.

But she'd seen through human hearts—no more rosy wishes for them.

She wouldn't have spared them, but her power surged too fast. If she let the darkness in her soul fester more, she'd burst.

She smashed the gods' sky-temples to the ground, warned them never to think they're her equals, then left.

She split her power into six—one part she kept to train control, the other five stashed in random humans.

When an old bearer died, she'd secretly find a new one to imprint.

The gods never guessed the power they craved was right under their noses. That trickery fed Hecate's revenge high.

She knew she wanted vengeance and spite—a perfect moment to destroy everything.

And now was it—Heaven's gone weird, no longer able to stop her.