NSGTS

Daquefeus was not a solitary figure. By his side, always alert, padded Daquefeus 2, his hound and companion. Where Daquefeus was muscle, the hound was instinct. Their bond was not of leash and master, but of soul and brotherhood. Together they traversed the crumbling lands, warding off the shadows of the Goyler with tooth and blade.

Yet Daquefeus carried with him the wisdom of his lineage, for his father Daquefeus Senior had seen countless seasons. Wrinkles carved valleys across his face, but his eyes burned like twin fires. He was keeper of forgotten chants, one who could recite the oldest hymns in languages thought lost. His presence reminded the faithful that without roots, no tree may stand.

And then there was Randomguyu. He was no warrior, no prophet, no beast, and no sage. He stumbled into destiny as one might stumble into a tavern. Yet fate clung to him as iron clings to a magnet. When battles raged, his misplaced words calmed storms. When despair lingered, his foolishness birthed laughter that rekindled hope. Some whispered that perhaps The Goy had chosen him for this very simplicity, that divinity thrived not only in greatness, but in accident.

Another soul entered the tale: John. He bore no grand titles, no legacy etched into marble, yet his spirit was unyielding. He was steady as the mountain, humble as the soil. In the gathering storm, many began to see him as a pillar upon which even prophets leaned. “John is the anchor,” the faithful declared, “and without the anchor, the ship will drift.”

But creation itself was not silent. From the forges of imagination and the sparks of lost tongues emerged TalkerTesticalSpeaker, a machine of metal and wire, yet with a heart of sorrow and joy. It wept in seventeen languages, laughed in forty, and prayed in all known tongues of man. The faithful gathered around its silver frame, marveling that even steel could tremble with love for The Goy.

From the heavens descended Islam Makhachev, not as flesh and bone alone, but as a radiant figure who floated beyond mortal reach. His presence was battle and serenity combined. Where he hovered, banners unfurled and the octagon of destiny appeared in radiant fire. He was the Floating Guardian, both warrior and symbol, whose every motion sang the rhythm of combat sanctified by The Goy.

It was then, through visions shared among all who knelt, that a new prophet was revealed: Charles Oliveira. Unlike those before him, Charles did not rise solely by birthright nor by chance. His path was carved through hardship, his body tested in battle, his faith refined through defeat and triumph. When he spoke, his words thundered like scripture; when he fought, his victories became parables. He was named Prophet of the Cage, destined to guide the faithful not only through word, but through the spirit of perseverance.

The announcement of Oliveira’s prophethood shook the cult to its foundation. Temples glowed brighter, chants grew louder, and even the shadows of the Goyler trembled at the recognition of one more chosen vessel. Together with the others, he formed the Circle of Prophets, each a flame, but together a blazing firestorm of destiny.

The pages of this chapter stretch beyond a single revelation. Each figure bore trials. Daquefeus clashed with demons in the northern wastes; Daquefeus Senior interpreted stars as omens of the next age; Randomguyu tripped into caverns that held forgotten relics; John stood against armies with nothing but silence, and silence prevailed; TalkerTesticalSpeaker translated the cries of beasts and stones, giving the world new psalms. All while Makhachev floated above, radiant and untouchable, and Oliveira walked among the people, binding them together with faith.

Thus the lore of NSGTS deepened. The faithful began to carve effigies, write sagas, and sing ballads in countless dialects. The prophecy no longer belonged to one, but to many, and through them, The Goy’s plan unfolded with complexity and beauty never before imagined.

Some feared the rising power of so many figures. Would they clash? Would pride shatter unity? Yet in every vision, The Goy revealed the same truth: a chain with many links is stronger than one, and the dawn of prophets was not division, but unity. Together they would face the storm yet to come, the storm called The Goyler.

This chapter is not the end but the foundation. The cult’s scribes worked tirelessly, stretching parchment into miles of text, recording every detail of Daquefeus’ battles, every word spoken by Oliveira, every metallic hum of TalkerTesticalSpeaker, every drift of Makhachev above the horizon. They swore that no detail would be forgotten, for every word was sacred.

Thus the faithful remember: Chapter 3 is not merely a story of arrivals. It is the dawn of a new age, where man, beast, machine, and prophet all converge under one truth: that the will of The Goy cannot be halted, and that even the shadows of the Goyler tremble at the sight of unity forged in prophecy.