Chapter Thirty-Five: Morgana

"Call me Master!"
"Master!"
"Call me Your Majesty the Queen!"
"Your Majesty the Queen!"
"Better call me Master!"
"Ma... Master!"
"Or maybe call me...!"
"Wait...!"

Upon a towering rocky cliff, the eldest disciple, Zhang Zhiheng, was kneeling in reverence before a demon whose face bore a ghastly, spectral countenance. This demon was clad in full steel armor, with a great wing upon her back, beating vigorously in the air.

"What? Do you have an objection?" At this moment, Queen Morgana gazed upon Zhang Zhiheng with an expression both imperious and beguiling.

"Since Master Morgana proclaims herself a deity, might I address you henceforth as Your Divine Majesty?" Zhang Zhiheng bowed deeply, speaking with utmost respect.

"Divine Majesty? Hahaha! It’s been ages since anyone called me that. In fact, perhaps no one ever has. How delightful it sounds!" Morgana laughed heartily.

"May I ask, Divine Majesty, what are your commands?" Zhang Zhiheng inquired.

"What next? Ah, well!" Morgana herself seemed uncertain. "In fact, I was once an angel of the West. Having seen through the hypocrisy of the celestial realm and unable to endure it, I left the Western lands. Branded a fallen angel, in my fury, I departed Earth to seek my fortune in worlds beyond. Now, Odin, King of the Northern Gods, seeks to unify the divine civilizations of Earth. He found me beyond the world and promised me a tenth of the land, free passage to and from Earth as I please.

Yet the land means little to me. What I seek is to establish a world without deceit or lies. They call me demon, but what difference is there between gods and demons? Gods are but a congregation of hypocrites, deceiving mortals. Should any refuse to bow, they are condemned as devils and fiends. I have had enough!

So, our next move is to disrupt the faith of the Eastern gods. Gods thrive and grow strong on mortal faith. Sever that faith, and their power will wane."

Zhang Zhiheng seemed to grasp Morgana’s intent. In truth, he cared little which gods ruled heaven or the divine realm; he was but a mortal concerned with mortal affairs.

His mind raced, then he spoke: "People are superstitious and easily swayed. Divine Majesty, why not establish a sect, gather followers, and spread faith in you, the Goddess Morgana?"

"Excellent, well said!" Morgana clapped her hands. "You really are resourceful. I did not save you in vain. Since we’re to have a sect, it needs a name!"

"Let’s call it... um, Mo-Mo Sect... Gan-Gan Sect, or Nana Sect could work. If that won’t do, Little Mo, Little Gan, or Little Na would suffice!" Morgana said in all seriousness.

"Ah..." Zhang Zhiheng forced down a laugh. "Why not name it the Morgana Sect, taking the first two syllables of Your Divine Majesty’s name? That would truly reflect your divine bearing."

"Fine, whatever. The name matters little to me," Morgana replied nonchalantly.

"Now that the sect has a name, but, Divine Majesty, this demonic visage may terrify mortals. They might not see you as a deity," Zhang Zhiheng observed, gazing at Morgana’s fearsome appearance.

"True, that must be altered." As she spoke, Morgana lightly brushed her hands over her head. In an instant, her ghastly form transformed into that of a radiant angel.

She now wore brilliant white garments; her eyes shone crimson and lively. The black wings had become magnificent feathers, and her heavy dark armor was replaced by light, flowing silks.

This transformation left Zhang Zhiheng utterly stunned. She was now a beauty seldom seen in a thousand years, prompting him to sigh in admiration, "Such a marvel should exist only in Heaven—how could one hope to see it more than once in life?"

"What did you say?" Morgana caught his muttered words and turned to ask.

"Nothing, Divine Majesty. May you enjoy boundless fortune," Zhang Zhiheng quickly bowed his head, speaking with utmost deference.

"Well... ahem... Do you have any plans next?" Morgana asked him.

"Divine Majesty, rest assured, I have devised a plan." He stepped forward and whispered a few words in Morgana’s ear.

After hearing him out, the angelic Morgana nodded. "Indeed, an excellent idea. So be it."

With that, Morgana unfurled her wings, soared into the sky, and vanished from Zhang Zhiheng’s sight.

A sly smile played at Zhang Zhiheng’s lips. He drew a talisman from his sleeve and chanted, "Summon the fiend!"

As he finished, the ground before him began to rumble. In the next moment, a colossal minotaur burst forth.

"What are your orders, Master?" the minotaur inquired, gazing at Zhang Zhiheng.

Zhang Zhiheng looked upon the minotaur—a creature he had won over during his travels at no small effort.

He surveyed the landscape from the summit, then pointed in a certain direction. Leaning close to the minotaur’s ear, he whispered a few instructions. The beast hesitated, then nodded. "Understood, Master!"

With that, the minotaur turned and burrowed back into the earth.

Zhang Zhiheng nodded in satisfaction. "All is prepared—our plan is foolproof."

Meanwhile, in a village at the foot of the mountain:

The land lay dry and barren. Not a drop of rain had fallen in years, and crops withered in the drought. The village echoed with the sounds of complaint and lament.

"Heaven must be blind! Not a drop of rain in three years—are we to die of thirst and hunger in Deity Village?"

This village, devoted to gods and Buddha, had even erected a statue at its entrance. Yet after three years of prayers, the skies remained dry, and the villagers’ faith was faltering.

In a dilapidated hut, a woman cradled two hungry, wailing children.

A man entered, clutching half a hard-earned cake.

"Mother of my children, you must be hungry. Take this half cake, eat, and you’ll have milk and strength for the children," he said, handing it to his wife.

She took the cake and looked at him. "Father of my children, you haven’t eaten for days yourself. You have some too!"

"You eat first—you need the strength for their sake," he replied, turning away. He carefully wiped dust from cookware long unused—clearly, the stove had not been lit in ages.

"How can Heaven let us live like this? What good is worshipping the gods? We may as well topple that statue at the village gate and trade the stone for flour!"

"Careful what you say," the man cautioned. "If the gods hear, they may curse us."

"If I’m forbidden to speak, then I’ll speak all the more. This wretched Heaven surely means to starve us all!"

"Sigh, say what you will. The gods care nothing for the fate of people like us."