Gyan moved through the battlefield with a twisted grin, his axe cleaving through the enemies without hesitation. Blood spattered across his armor, and his laughter echoed amidst the screams and chaos. His eyes gleamed with savage joy as he carved a path through the dead and dying.
But then—he saw him.
"Asron!" Gyan roared, his voice booming over the din of war. "There he is—resting alone in the middle of this hell!"
His laughter faltered as he caught sight of the stillness around Asron. The battlefield raged on, yet in that circle of silence, even the air seemed to hold its breath. Something unseen pressed down like a crushing weight.
Beside Asron stood Isaki—the goddess who once glowed like the stars above, her heart forever bound to him. But now, her radiance dimmed, her eyes filled with sorrow as she watched him from a distance. Asron sat still, his shoulders sagging, his head bowed low—like a warrior carrying the weight of a thousand wars.
Isaki understood the storm within him.
This was no battle of steel or sorcery.
It was a war of being—a silent, agonizing war fought within.
She stepped forward slowly, her movements light, cautious. She reached out, fingers trembling with hesitation. Just before her hand touched his shoulder, she paused. Doubt flickered in her gaze—Could she reach him? Could her touch still matter?
But she couldn't leave him in that darkness.
Her hand rested gently on his shoulder.
Asron looked up. His eyes—once blazing with fury—were hollow now, empty and wounded. Silent tears streaked his face.
Her heart shattered.
The god who bore the weight of worlds… the warrior who stood alone against gods and monsters… was crying.
Gyan's grin vanished. His axe lowered.
"What... what madness is this?" he muttered, stunned. "Am I truly seeing this? A god… weeping?"
His voice trembled, rough with disbelief. "I've fought beside gods. I've slain demons. But never… never have I seen a god shed tears."
Asron raised a hand, touching the wetness on his cheek as if discovering it for the first time. His shoulders shook. His breath hitched beneath the weight of grief no blade could strike down.
Isaki knelt beside him, her voice soft as moonlight, "He feels more than any of us. He fights not just a war, but his own existence. His own purpose. It is a curse only the gods carry."
Gyan took a step closer, his voice lower now. "You mean… he's fading? Because he questions who he is?"
Isaki nodded, her voice cracking. "For gods, purpose is everything. Doubt it… and you unravel. If he cannot find himself, he will cease to be."
Asron's grip closed around Pasifer, blood trailing from his palm down the length of the blade. His voice broke, a whisper barely carried by the wind:
"Is this... my fate? To kill? To destroy? To cry alone amidst the corpses? Is this all I am?"
His words hung in the air like a curse, heavier than steel.
Even Gyan looked away.
Isaki's fingers clenched his shoulder tighter. "You are more than a sword, Asron. You are more than destruction. But only you can find that truth."
Asron met her gaze, his eyes pleading, searching. "But what if… there's nothing more? What if all I am… is this sword?"
Silence.
The battlefield seemed to quiet, as if the world itself waited for his answer.
His hands trembled as he wiped the tears away, disbelief in every movement. Then, through cracked breath and bleeding palms, his voice rose:
"I don't know how this ends… but I won't die.
Not yet. Not until this madness ends."
With a grunt of effort, he gripped Pasifer and drove it into the ground to steady himself. He forced his body upright—swaying, knees weak from fatigue and sorrow. Blood stained the hilt, but his eyes burned anew—with resolve, not rage.
"I will save them all. I'll end this war."
His voice climbed, strong now, echoing across the broken earth.
"WHO STANDS WITH ME?!"
A roar rose from his allies, trembling with desperate hope.
"Asron! Asron! Asron!"
The name became a chant—a fire in the cold, a light in the gloom.
But amid the shouts, Isaki stood silent. Her eyes shimmered, haunted by what she could not say.
They marched behind him—a defiant army against the fury of heaven and hell.
And Asron led them.
Pasifer blazed with divine light, cutting through angelic ranks. Feathers, soaked in blood, drifted like cursed snow. His blade tore through scales and bone, dragons crashing into earth with thunderous roars. He carved a path through gods who once called him their brother.
His movements were feral, desperate— a man with nothing left to lose but his soul.
He was a storm.
Untamed. Merciless.
Each swing of Pasifer shattered divine armor.
Each step crushed the fallen beneath him. Angels screamed. Demons fled. Even the gods began to falter.
But still—his eyes remained hollow. Still—his heart bled with every life he took.
Finally, Asron stood before Eldros—the Supreme God—who loomed atop a mountain of corpses, his golden armor gleaming beneath the blood-drenched sun. Around them, the battlefield had fallen deathly silent. The cries of war had vanished, replaced by an eerie stillness, as though the world itself held its breath.
Asron's chest rose and fell in ragged gasps, every breath a blade of fire in his lungs. His body trembled under the weight of wounds and grief, yet his spirit refused to break. He raised Pasifer, its edge still slick with divine blood, and pointed it at the god who had caused it all.
His voice cracked like thunder, raw and trembling with rage and sorrow. "Eldros! End this madness! Look around you—this… this is what your divinity has wrought! A world drowned in blood, lives reduced to ash, innocence stolen in the name of your power!"
The skies darkened, the wind stilled. Even the gods seemed to fall silent. The weight of his words pressed down like a storm. For a fleeting moment, something flickered in Eldros's eyes—not wrath, but hesitation. Doubt. A crack in the godhood.
Asron swayed, his vision blurred by blood and fatigue. His knees begged to collapse. But he held fast, his sword a pillar in the chaos. His voice dropped lower now, steady and solemn, carrying the burden of every soul lost to the war.
"It ends today… or everything ends with it."
Around them, the warriors—mortals, gods, demons alike—stood frozen. No swords raised. No voices cried. Only the silence of the world watching… waiting. One answer now held the weight of existence.