The Transformation of Diyu

Diyu could not believe Elder Yow. Cowardice was not a word Diyu used lightly, but no other word seemed to fit the old Kreegan anymore. Yow had seen the Anunnaki. He had heard their warning. He had listened as hunters confirmed the signs of Hadawon’s decline, and still he clung to old beliefs as if tradition could hold back the death of a sun.

Diyu left the elder’s hut with anger burning in his chest. He tried to push it down, but the more he replayed Yow’s refusal, the hotter it became. There had to be another way to make him understand. If Yow would not listen to Diyu, perhaps he would listen to the Anunnaki themselves. Perhaps if they pressed him, if they showed him more than words, the elder would come around. Then the rest of the village might follow.
The thought gave Diyu just enough hope to move.

He made his way toward the Anunnaki craft, where the strange visitors still remained. The ship rested in the field like a fallen star, its pale blue-green glow spilling faintly from within. Even after days of seeing it, Diyu still felt unease whenever he drew near. It did not belong to the land. It did not belong to Hadawon. Yet it might be the only thing capable of saving them.

As Diyu approached one of the Anunnaki, the being turned toward him. Its glowing eyes fixed on his, and before Diyu could speak, a soft yet stern voice echoed inside his mind.

“I know what you will ask of us,” the Anunnaki said. “We must decline. We must maintain the timeline's order. Any direct involvement from us could spin the whole timeline beyond control. We are sorry, Diyu, but any direct change must come from your people alone.”

The words struck him like a blow. For several moments, Diyu could not answer. Frustration rose inside him until it had nowhere left to go. He turned away from the Anunnaki and released a roar that shook his throat raw. He did not direct it at them. Even in his anger, some part of him knew they had not caused Yow’s cowardice. Still, their refusal felt like abandonment. The Anunnaki gave him space. Without another word, the glowing being retreated into the craft. Diyu stood alone beside the ship, breathing hard. Hopelessness crept over him.

If the Anunnaki would not help persuade one stubborn elder, how could Diyu ever hope to unite the village? If the village could not be united, how could the clans be brought together? The task ahead had already seemed impossible. Now it felt foolish.
Diyu sank to the ground beside the craft and stared at the dirt beneath him. This soil, this living ground, would be gone in the not-so-distant future. The grasses, the hunting paths, the huts, the bones of their ancestors—all of it would burn beneath a dying sun if no one acted.

He lowered his head. For the first time since the Anunnaki’s arrival, doubt felt stronger than purpose. A figure in white appeared before him. Diyu looked up.

One of the Anunnaki stood there, glowing softly against the dimming light. At first, Diyu thought it was the same being that had refused him. Then the voice entered his mind, and he knew this one was different. It carried the same softness, but beneath it was a faint hiss that made the words feel colder.

“You wish to help your people, yes?” the being asked. “You need not voice your answer. I can read your thoughts.”

Diyu remained still.

The Anunnaki stepped closer.
“You think all hope is lost. You think you cannot move your elder, cannot move your village, cannot move the clans. But I can help you change that.”

Diyu’s anger quieted beneath sudden attention.
The voice continued. “This is what you want.”
The words echoed through Diyu’s mind.

What you want.

He nodded before he could fully consider it. It was what he wanted. He wanted his people saved. He wanted the elders to stop hiding behind old boundaries. He wanted the clans to survive. If this being could help, then he could not ignore the chance.

“Meet me tonight,” the Anunnaki said. “At the High Hill landmark in the southern hunting grounds. Come after everyone sleeps.”

Diyu nodded again.

The figure turned away.

Only after it was gone did uncertainty settle back into him. The Anunnaki had never changed their minds before. They had been firm in every lesson, careful with every answer. Why would one of them now offer help after another had refused? The question troubled him, but not enough to keep him from the meeting.

He could not let the opportunity slip from his grasp.

His people might not want to listen to him. Yow might choose fear over action. The village might cling to tradition until Hadawon itself began to die beneath their feet. None of that changed the danger. None of it changed the truth.

Their planet was doomed.

Later that night, after the village had gone quiet, Diyu left his hut and walked toward the southern hunting grounds. The sky above was dark and clear, scattered with stars that no longer seemed distant in the same way. Once, they had been lights. Now they were destinations, perhaps warnings, perhaps futures.

The High Hill rose ahead of him, a familiar landmark made strange by what waited there.
When Diyu reached the crest, he stopped.

The Anunnaki stood at the center of the hill, but the ground around it had changed. Stones trembled above the earth, not falling, not resting, but floating in slow circles. Thin cracks glowed faintly beneath the soil. Small fragments of rock broke free and drifted upward as if the world had forgotten its own weight.

Diyu stared. “What are you doing?” he asked. “Is the ground supposed to break apart and float like that?”

The soft hissing voice entered his mind again, louder this time.
“Do you want to lead your people to survival and escape this cursed land?”
Diyu’s emotions boiled over. Fear, anger, hope, desperation—everything inside him collided at once.

“Yes!”

“Prepare yourself, Diyu,” the being said. “This is going to hurt.”

The ground beneath Diyu’s feet began to quake. Stones ripped free from the hill and spun into the air. Molten fire rose from the cracks below, not flowing outward, but gathering, drawn by some unseen force. Rock and magma congealed together in front of him, forming a hovering sphere that flickered like a mirror made of lava. Purple lightning crawled through it in jagged veins. The surface bubbled and popped, and the heat radiating from it struck Diyu’s skin like the open mouth of a furnace.
Diyu stepped back.

The Anunnaki lifted one hand.

Diyu’s body became weightless.

Panic surged through him as his feet left the ground. He tried to move, tried to twist free, but he could not. His limbs refused him. His body floated forward, drawn toward the molten sphere inch by inch.

“No,” he growled.

The heat worsened. His eyes watered. His breath dried in his throat. Every instinct screamed for escape, but nothing in him obeyed. The sphere swallowed his feet first.
Fire consumed his boots instantly. Leather blackened, curled, and vanished. Then the magma touched flesh.

Diyu screamed.

The pain was beyond heat. It burned so fiercely that it seemed almost cold, a white agony that devoured thought. Molten matter crawled over his feet and ankles, searing flesh before hardening into a skin of liquid metal. His nerves became fire. His bones felt as though they were being unmade and reforged inside him.

The sphere pulled him deeper. The flames climbed his legs. Diyu’s screams tore across the hill, but no one came. The village slept. The Anunnaki watched. The molten orb continued to swallow him.

With what strength remained, Diyu cried out, “Why have you forsaken me?”

The metal reached his chest. His arms. His throat. He tried to turn his face away as the molten substance rose toward his mouth, but he could not move. It slipped between his teeth and rushed down his throat with terrifying speed. He tried to scream again, but the liquid metal choked him. It filled his lungs, burned through his insides, and drowned him in fire.

His body could withstand no more.

Darkness took him. Diyu’s consciousness drifted through an endless black abyss. Time stretched there without shape. Pain remained, but it no longer belonged to flesh. It became thought, memory, and torment. He saw flashes of a strange figure wrapped in red and purple flame. It was not Anunnaki. It wore no glowing robes. It carried no soft white light. Yet its presence did not alarm him. It felt powerful. Necessary.
The figure whispered that Diyu’s time was not yet over. Each word lashed across his mind like a chain pulled from fire.

“Diyu,” the figure said, “you will follow me. Your one and only god. Zurrotan.”

The name sank into him.

“Within this dark abyss, you have no choice but to follow me out and claim your birthright as ruler of Hadawon. Take revenge on the Anunnaki. Together, we shall bring order and salvation to your land, and you shall ascend to godhood among your people.”

Rage flooded Diyu. It consumed every corner of him. Bloodlust for the Anunnaki took root where trust had been. The voice of Zurrotan echoed again and again, sowing betrayal into every wound. Diyu had believed the Anunnaki. He had learned from them. He had defended their warning before his people. And they had done this to him. Confusion twisted with anger until there was no difference between the two. Images of deceit formed in his mind, fueling the fire within him. The Anunnaki’s glowing robes became masks. Their soft voices became lies. Their warnings became a trap. Diyu clenched his fists inside the darkness. He understood now, or thought he did. His place in the universe had changed. He was not merely a hunter begging elders to listen. He was not a village son pleading for reason. He was destined to rule. He would seize the reins of Hadawon and force salvation upon those too weak to choose it. The Anunnaki would pay for their betrayal.

“How could they have hidden their true purpose behind kindness?” he thought. “How could they have fooled him so completely?” Anguish mingled with fury, twisting his mind into a storm. “Zurrotan,” Diyu cried into the abyss, “release me from this torment. I have work to do. I will be the instrument that brings order to this world, and I will bring vengeance upon those who betrayed me.”

On the hilltop, Diyu’s body lay motionless against the scorched earth. No Anunnaki was standing over him. Only an imposter wearing the clever disguise of one.
The glowing robes faded. The false light peeled away. The figure’s form twisted and reshaped until the sinister visage of Zurrotan stood beneath the stars. A malicious grin stretched across his face as he looked down at Diyu’s transformed body.

“Yes, Diyu,” Zurrotan said. “Rest. You will be my puppet of chaos.”
He tilted his head, studying the result with fascination.
“These results are not what I expected,” he said, “but they are no less impressive.”

His grin widened. “I wonder if you Anunnaki saw this coming.”

Then the Chaos God vanished, leaving Diyu unconscious on the hill, deceived into believing he had been betrayed by the Anunnaki and saved by Zurrotan. When Diyu slowly regained consciousness, the world seemed wrong. The night air felt different against his skin. The ground beneath him felt weaker than it should have. A haze clouded his thoughts as he pushed himself upright. His body resisted strangely, as though weight and strength had been rewritten inside him. He looked down. The thick, leathery skin he had known all his life was gone. In its place was cold metal. It covered him in dark, living plates shaped around the memory of his body. His hands were no longer flesh as he remembered them. His arms looked forged, sculpted by fire and violence. When he flexed his fingers, metal shifted as if alive.

Panic rose first.

Then anger swallowed it.

“Oh, the deceit of the Anunnaki,” Diyu said.

His voice sounded different, distorted by the unfamiliar vessel that had become his body. Violation swept through him. Loss followed. Something had been stolen from him that could never be returned. His trust had been used against him. His faith had been answered with transformation.

The rage snapped.

Diyu drove his joined fists into the ground.
The hill exploded beneath him. A shockwave tore outward through soil and stone. Cracks split across the surface in all directions, and dust rose in a violent ring. Diyu stared at the destruction, stunned by the strength in his own body.

He was stronger.

Far stronger.

He rose, breathing hard, and felt speed humming beneath his metal skin like a storm trapped in his limbs. “I will murder the Anunnaki for their betrayal,” he growled. “They will feel my wrath.”

Then he ran.

The world blurred around him. Trees rushed past faster than they ever had before. His feet struck the ground with such force that the soil burst beneath each step. He felt power in every movement, overwhelming and intoxicating. The transformation had been a curse, but it had also made him something greater.

The thought filled him with a dangerous sense of divinity.
He would not fail. With a single massive leap, Diyu bounded over a tree and came crashing down in the center of his village. The impact struck the ground with a thunderous rumble that drew every eye toward him. A woman screamed. Diyu stood amid the startled villagers, his metallic form gleaming in the morning light. Faces filled with horror. Hunters reached for weapons. Children hid behind their mothers. The village that had known him all his life now stared at him as though a monster had landed among them.
Then another woman stepped forward.

“Diyu?” she asked. “Is that you, my child?”

The voice cut through his rage. Diyu turned. His mother stood before him.
Fear trembled in her eyes, but recognition lived there too. Even in this cursed form, even after what the Anunnaki had done to him, she knew him. She came closer and placed her hand against his cheek. The touch carried him backward in memory. He remembered being young, remembered her hand against his face after a successful hunt, after a foolish mistake, after moments when his temper had nearly cost him. She would tell him she was proud of him. She would tell him he would grow into a great hunter for the village one day. For a breath, the chaos inside him quieted. Then Elder Yow came hobbling toward them as quickly as his cane allowed.

“Heretic,” the elder shouted. “Betrayer. Monster!”

The words snapped Diyu out of memory. Rage surged before thought could stop it. In a blur, Diyu crossed the distance between them. His fist drove forward with terrible force. All he perceived was impact—the old man’s skull collapsing beneath his hand, bone and teeth bursting outward, blood and fragments scattering through the air. When it was over, Yow’s headless body dropped to the ground with a feeble thud. Screams rang through the village. Diyu spun into a defensive stance, ready for battle. His mother stared at the body, then back at him. Tears filled her eyes.

“What have you done?” she whispered. Her voice broke around the words. “You cannot be my son. My son had a temper, but he was not a murderer. This is not how we live. We do not act like this anymore. We are at peace.”

The word struck Diyu like a blade.

Peace.

The sound of it sent rage coursing through him. How could anyone speak of peace while their world teetered on the edge of annihilation? How could anyone cling to that word when Hadawon itself was dying? The memory of fire, darkness, molten torment, and Zurrotan’s voice twisted together inside him.

“What peace?” Diyu snarled.

His eyes burned with fury as he pointed toward the sun.
“You and everyone here are doomed to die from that.”

His voice rose, sharp and harsh. “That blazing fire in the sky promises destruction, not peace. This is your chance to open your eyes and follow me. This is your chance to free our people from the chains binding us to a dying planet.”

His words came from pain as much as rage. The fire he had endured, both in body and mind, had forged something unyielding inside him. He would defy the fate awaiting them. He would rise above the ashes. He would drag his people forward, whether they thanked him or feared him.

His mother took a step closer. “Diyu, my son,” she pleaded, her voice thick with sorrow. “Peace is not about denying suffering. It is about healing what suffering has broken. It is about mending the wounds that scar our souls.”

Her words reached him more deeply than he wanted. The storm inside him faltered.
“We cannot abandon hope,” she continued. “We must strive for peace, or our future generations are already doomed.”

For one moment, Diyu heard her. The part of him untouched by chaos stirred beneath the rage. Her words struck something buried in him, something still capable of remembering who he had been. The desire for revenge clashed against her plea. The path before him blurred. Perhaps there was more to survival than violence. Perhaps peace was not surrender. Perhaps—

Pain stabbed through his skull.

Diyu staggered.

His mind went dark, and whispers rushed into the wound.

Revenge.

War.

Godhood.

The words spun uncontrollably through his thoughts. In the distance, the Anunnaki ship lifted from the village field. Its glow brightened as it rose, then shot upward toward the sky and beyond the atmosphere.

The sight shattered whatever calm his mother had awakened.
“Cowards!” Diyu roared. “Come back and face your death sentence!”

His mother did not take her eyes from him. She could see that her son was not fully in control of himself. She could also see that he was not fully lost.
Not yet.

“Diyu, listen to me,” she said. “Please. They should leave. You can still make peace with yourself, with the villagers, and with me.”

Her words struck against his pride. Zurrotan’s promise rose inside him.
You shall be worshipped as a god among your people. Overconfidence swelled through Diyu as he looked upon his mother, then across the village. Hunters and capable men had gathered now, but they kept their distance. None rushed him. None dared.

“Who says it is better?” Diyu asked.

He stepped away from his mother and raised his voice so all could hear.
“I am the new leader of this village. I am Diyu, and I am your lord. My hands will unite this world. We will survive what is coming, and I will have vengeance on the Anunnaki for what they have done to me. If you oppose me, I will end your life. No one here can say the same to me.”

The village fell silent.

Then one hunter knelt.

Another followed.

Then another.

Soon, the capable men of the village dropped to one knee, some out of fear, some out of respect, most out of simple survival. Diyu watched them bow and felt certainty settle over him like a crown.

He needed to get off this planet to seek revenge. The Anunnaki had made a mistake. They had already taught him enough to begin building what he would need. He did not yet have the tools, the labor, or the resources, but he knew the path. All he had to do was take what was necessary. His eyes found Emo among the kneeling Kreegans.

Diyu walked past him and spoke in a low voice. “Emo, spread word of what has happened. Make sure everyone takes a knee. Those who refuse are to be dealt with. Once it is done, find me in the elder’s hut.”

Emo’s face was unreadable for a moment.

Then he bowed his head. “Yes, Lord.”

Diyu turned back to his mother.
“Come. We have matters to discuss.”

She hesitated, but he could see she understood the truth.
She had no choice. Inside Elder Yow’s hut, the air still carried the scent of age, smoke, and old herbs. Diyu’s mother stood near the entrance, her arms held close to herself.

“Are you going to kill me too?” she asked. “Is this who you have become? Who are you? What have they done to my son?”

Anger surged through Diyu again.
“Look at me,” he snapped. “Look at what they did to me. I believed in them, and they took something from me that can never be recovered. They will pay with their deceitful lives.”

“Stop this,” she pleaded. “The anger inside you is a tempest. You must endure the storm and remain calm. Please, son. This is not the path you want.”

“Oh, but it is exactly the path I desire,” Diyu said. “Anyone who stands in my way will perish. Those who try to stop me are content to watch this planet die. If they are so eager to embrace death, I will gladly give it to them.”

He could see that his mother would continue to defy him. A colder part of his mind told him to end her resistance then and there, but a flicker of compassion held his hand. She was still his mother. She had still touched his face and seen him beneath the metal.
That memory saved her.

For now.

“From this moment on, you will stay in this hut,” Diyu commanded. “I will instruct the men of the village to bring you back whenever they see you outside. If necessary, I will chain you here.”

Her expression broke, but she did not answer. Diyu turned away from her and surveyed the hut. Old papers lay scattered across a dusty table. Most were records, markings, and village matters that had never interested him. Then one tan sheet caught his eye. He pulled it free and unfolded it.

A map.

Not of the village.

Of Hadawon.

Diyu stared.

All five clan territories were marked clearly. Each capital city had been drawn and named. Borders, old roads, rivers, and shorelines spread across the paper in lines that made the world seem suddenly smaller, more understandable, more conquerable.
The old tales had made their civilization feel distant and divided beyond comprehension. The map made the hierarchy plain.

Diyu’s attention settled on the Anoxe capital.
Noxeer. If he meant to unite the Anoxe Clan, he would have to go there first.
He stormed out of the hut with the map in hand and found Emo returning from his task. The hunter stopped before him and lowered his head.

“Lord, I have carried out your orders,” Emo said. “Only ten of the hundred villagers refused to kneel. I have arranged for their burial.”

Diyu studied him.
“Ah, Emo. You have always been loyal, even in difficult times.” He placed a hand on Emo’s shoulder. “You will make a fine general in my army.”

Emo accepted the praise, but concern flickered across his face.
“Lord, are we going to war with only ninety men?”

“No,” Diyu said. “We are going to the capital to gather more.”

“My apologies, Lord,” Emo said, “but I was unaware we even had a capital.”

Diyu motioned for him to follow behind a nearby hut, away from prying eyes. There, he unfolded the map. “This is the key to uniting the clans,” Diyu said. “With the combined resources and labor of each land, we will escape this forsaken rock.”

Emo looked over the map, absorbing the markings. Then he clenched his right hand and placed it over his chest. “My lord, your will be done. What are your orders?”

“Divide the ninety men into groups,” Diyu commanded. “Half will prepare the village and turn it into a war camp. The other half will craft weapons.”

“With respect, Lord, our villagers do not know how to forge true weapons of war,” Emo said. “They know bows and spears for hunting.”

“Then bows and spears it shall be,” Diyu answered. “Make them strong enough to slay the mightiest Arctodus beast. If they can do that, they can serve in war.”

“Understood, Lord. Your will be done.” Emo turned and strode through the village, shouting orders. As he moved down the central path, men emerged from their huts and lined up to receive commands. Diyu watched them gather. This was the beginning.

The beginning of the chaos that would unite the clans and free them from this dying world. A week passed, and the sleepy village Diyu had known all his life disappeared beneath the bones of a war camp. Walls rose around the settlement. Lookout posts were built in strategic positions. The constant clanging of hammers filled the air as armor and weapons took shape. Smoke from coal fires lingered over the huts. Hunters drilled in formations where children once played. It was not enough. Nothing was enough. Diyu’s need for vengeance remained like a living thing in his chest. He imagined wrapping his metal hands around the throats of the Anunnaki and squeezing the life from each of them. When those thoughts became too strong, he retreated to his war room and studied the map.
The western shoreline route to Noxeer would take four days to march.

Diyu remembered Elder Yow’s old warnings to the western hunters. The elder had always said that traveling north along the western shores meant death by crossing a forbidden border. Diyu had assumed the warning referred to another clan’s territory. Now he wondered if it had been only a lie meant to keep the village small and obedient.
All this time, the path had led not to sudden death, but to the capital of their own clan.

Either way, Diyu knew his future waited in Noxeer. Soon, he would stand before the chief of the Anoxe Clan.

The chief would kneel.

Or perish.

Three more months passed before the march began. During that time, Diyu planned beyond the capital. He and Emo discussed tactics in case the current ruler refused to submit or the people resisted. Through these discussions, Diyu came to understand how valuable Emo truly was. Emo was not merely loyal. He listened, questioned, challenged weak ideas, and often offered stronger ones in their place.

On the night before departure, Emo entered the war room.
“Tomorrow, my lord, you will be ready to depart for the capital with a personal guard of ninety armed soldiers.”

“Emo, you will accompany me,” Diyu said.
He extended his hand.

“A warlord needs his finest general beside him.”
Emo clasped Diyu’s hand firmly.

“You honor me, Lord. I am willing and able. Your will be done.”

Together, they stepped out of the hut. For the first time, Diyu saw all ninety Kreegan warriors assembled in two ranks. The first rank carried heavy wooden poles thicker than ordinary spears, each topped with a large metal spearhead. The second rank held bows nearly as tall as the warriors themselves. Every man wore armor and carried provisions for war.

Diyu turned to Emo and nodded approvingly. “You have assembled a fine unit,” he said. “I shall call them Guardsmen.” He faced the road north. “It is time to march.”