"I want you to be my messenger and play your part in my revival."
The words rang out like a command, and the scarlet eyes of the dark god locked onto Harry. There was an unspoken authority in that gaze, a weight that seemed to press down on him from all sides. "It will be your honor," the dark god continued, its voice smooth, yet laced with an eerie, commanding tone.
Harry's muscles tensed, but he kept his expression calm, betraying no fear. He had learned to mask his emotions, even when confronted with the impossible. "What do you want me to do?" His voice was steady, but his mind raced. He couldn't afford to underestimate this being, even if it appeared to be playing with him.
"Don't worry," the god's voice resonated in his mind, "it will be very simple."