The skies had become a graveyard of angels.
White feathers, scorched black by abyssal fire, rained down upon the land like snow. The once-holy winds carried the scent of divine blood. What had started as a battle between light and darkness had devolved into something far greater—something far more terrifying.
This was no longer a war of gods.
This was the rebirth of a new world.
And death was its lullaby.
---
The Fall of Seraphiel
Vaelion soared through the storm of screams and fire, his body battered, his wings torn, but his will unshaken. His sword glowed with corrupted light—a fusion of abyss and divinity, a weapon no longer bound by celestial rules.
Seraphiel descended like a comet, trailing fire across the heavens, his wrath unrelenting.
Their final clash echoed across the continent.
But Seraphiel was tired.
He had been forged by faith—but Vaelion had been reforged by freedom.
As their blades locked one last time, Vaelion whispered, "You always feared choice. I embraced it."
Then he drove his blade through Seraphiel's chest.
There was no explosion. No scream.
Only silence.
Seraphiel's wings crumbled into ash. His halo shattered. And as he fell, so too did the last pillar of the Holy Kingdom's divine order.
---
A Moment of Stillness
Below, Oscar stood at the edge of the battlefield, the abyss swirling at his feet. He watched as the body of Seraphiel fell like a fallen star, landing far in the distance with a final, thunderous impact.
For a moment, even the abyss went quiet.
Selene stepped beside him, her face unreadable.
"He's dead," she said softly.
"Yes."
"You don't seem pleased."
Oscar didn't respond immediately. His gaze was distant, as if staring through time itself.
"We killed a god," he said eventually.
"And?"
"Now the gods will notice."
---
The Gathering Storm
Far from the battlefield, in the ruins of an ancient celestial temple long forgotten by mortals, they stirred.
Eyes opened beneath the surface of stars. Mouths whispered prayers in languages that predated the concept of language.
The gods had been silent for eons, content to watch their pawns wage war across the realms.
But now?
The abyss had grown teeth.
And it had begun to bite.
A being cloaked in starlight rose from an obsidian throne. Her voice echoed through eternity.
"The balance has been broken," she said.
Around her, the other gods awakened, their forms vast, unknowable, and terrible.
One by one, they turned their gaze to a single place.
To a single soul.
To Oscar.
And they spoke as one:
"The mortal has risen too far."
---
Echoes of Doubt
Back in the Citadel, Aldric stood alone in a chamber of reflective crystal, staring at his own abyss-marked reflection. His armor bore the insignia of the abyss, but his eyes still clung to fragments of something else—doubt, perhaps… or guilt.
He remembered his fallen comrades.
He remembered Seraphiel.
And now, he wondered: had they gone too far?
Vaelion entered without knocking.
"You're troubled," he said.
Aldric nodded.
"Seraphiel was my friend. Once."
"So was I," Vaelion replied. "Before the light made us its weapons."
Aldric looked away.
"What are we becoming?"
Vaelion didn't answer.
Because even he wasn't sure anymore.
---
The Whisper Beneath the World
In the deepest chamber of the Obsidian Gate, where even light dared not enter, something began to move.
It had no name.
No form.
Only hunger.
Oscar stood before it, alone.
And it spoke to him—not in words, but in feelings. In memories. In promises.
Power.
Dominion.
Godhood.
Oscar reached out his hand.
The thing laughed.
And the world shivered.
---
When Gods Awaken
A new silence spread across the world—thick, heavy, and unnatural. The kind of silence that came just before a storm not born of wind and rain, but of fate itself. The skies were darker now. The stars seemed farther away. And the heavens, once distant and silent, had begun to whisper.
But they were not whispers of hope.
They were whispers of wrath.
---
The Divine Council Convenes
At the edge of existence, in the realm beyond time and matter, stood the Celestial Spire—a tower of blinding light that pierced into the void. Here, the gods gathered.
Thirteen thrones, each carved from the first materials of creation, floated in a circle. Upon them sat the Old Gods—beings so ancient, even the stars bowed before them.
At their center, a throne remained empty.
The Throne of Balance.
A golden god with sunfire for hair—Solamir, the God of Order—spoke first. His voice was law, his words unbreakable.
"The mortal Ethan Oscar has crossed every boundary."
Next spoke Velindra, Goddess of Fate, her form wrapped in swirling parchments of prophecy.
"He was never meant to exist," she murmured. "He walks between destinies, rewriting them with every step."
One by one, the gods weighed in.
Mortalis, god of death, simply said, "He denies me my due."
Xethor, god of war, grinned. "I like him."
But then, a new presence entered the chamber—an ancient being whose arrival made even the gods hesitate.
Nytherion, the Abyssal God.
Once cast down by his brethren, now reawakened by Oscar's rise.
He spoke not with a voice, but with the gnawing presence of hunger.
"He is my heir."
---
Oscar's Transformation Begins
In the abyssal throne room, Oscar sat upon his throne of bone and shadow. His body was still human, but his soul? His soul had begun to fray.
Selene knelt at his side, her expression uncertain.
"You've changed," she said.
Oscar glanced down at his hands. Once calloused and mortal, they now shimmered faintly with otherworldly energy—part divine, part abyssal.
"I can hear them," he said softly. "The gods. They're afraid."
Darius stepped into the room, his expression grim.
"We've received a message."
"From who?"
"Not who. What."
He handed Oscar a scroll sealed with golden wax—the mark of Solamir himself.
Oscar broke it open.
Inside was a single sentence:
Surrender your soul… or we will take it.
---
The Cult of the Broken Sky
As the divine realm prepared its retribution, mortal realms too began to fracture. The fall of the Seraphim had caused ripples across every kingdom, every church, every sacred order.
And in those cracks… something else began to bloom.
A new faith.
A cult.
They called themselves the Cult of the Broken Sky, and they worshipped not gods… but Oscar. They saw him as the bringer of truth, the one who shattered the illusion of divine justice.
Their leader was a former priestess named Miralyn, whose eyes now burned with black flame.
"The gods are tyrants," she declared to her growing flock. "And Oscar is our liberation."
They marched across the lands, tearing down temples, burning icons, spreading gospel written in blood and shadow.
And the people listened.
Because faith had failed them.
And fear had found a new name.
---
The First Divine Strike
It came without warning.
A spear of pure holy fire ripped through the sky, piercing the abyssal citadel's highest tower. Entire wings of the fortress crumbled, consumed by light.
Selene screamed.
Guards fell.
The abyss roared in pain.
Oscar rose slowly from his throne, his eyes alight with calm fury.
"So it begins."
Above the clouds, a host of divine warriors descended—Archons, the gods' enforcers, wrapped in celestial flame.
At their head stood Therion the Unbroken, Champion of Solamir.
"By order of the Celestial Council," he proclaimed, "you are to be unmade."
Oscar stepped forward, abyss swirling at his feet like a tide.
"You can try."
---
Blade of Heaven, Wrath of the Abyss
Lightning tore through the skies as two forces—one of divine brilliance and the other of abyssal dread—clashed on the scorched remains of the citadel's upper battlements.
Oscar stood unmoving, abyss swirling around him like a living storm. The spear of holy flame had carved through stone, but not through him. Not yet.
Across from him, Therion the Unbroken, clad in gleaming armor forged in the heart of the sun, hovered above the ruins. Wings of radiant light stretched wide, his halo spinning like a celestial blade behind his head.
"You stand defiant against the will of the heavens," Therion declared, his voice echoing like thunder. "Kneel, and I will grant you a death free of pain."
Oscar stepped forward, each movement causing cracks in the very ground beneath him. The abyss flowed with him, a tide of shadow answering his call.
"No," he said simply. "You will kneel."
With a roar, Therion descended like a comet, blade drawn, cloaked in holy fire. Oscar met him mid-air, the void shrieking as his arm transformed into a weapon not born of steel—but of pure entropy.
Steel met shadow. Light met darkness.
And the world shuddered.
---
The Battle Above the Abyss
The sky lit up with every strike. Oscar fought like no mortal, no man, no beast. He was something else now—something becoming. His blows were slow but devastating, carving through light shields and divine wards like paper.
But Therion was no ordinary foe.
He was blessed by Solamir, trained in war for eons, a being made for one purpose: to kill threats like Oscar.
"Your power is stolen," Therion spat as he deflected a wave of black fire. "You are nothing without the abyss."
Oscar's eyes glowed.
"And you are nothing but a slave."
A punch sent Therion crashing through three towers, leaving trails of molten light in his wake.
Still, he rose—bloodied, but burning.
"You think you've won?"
Oscar narrowed his gaze.
Therion raised his hand to the sky—and the clouds opened.
A second blade descended. Not crafted by mortals. Not forged by gods.
This was Heaven's Edge, the sword wielded by the first angel in the first war.
Even Oscar paused.
For the first time in many battles—he sensed danger.
---
Below, the Abyss Reacts
Selene rushed through the corridors of the collapsing citadel, blood dripping from a wound on her side. Darius intercepted her.
"What's happening?!"
"He called the Edge," she panted. "If it touches him—he's gone."
"We can't reach him in time."
She clenched her fists.
"Then we awaken It."
Darius's eyes widened.
"You mean the Deep Core? We're not ready—"
"If Oscar dies, nothing will be."
Together, they descended into the heart of the abyss—deeper than any mortal had gone. There, sealed behind walls of writhing shadow, something pulsed.
Ancient. Hungry. Alive.
Selene placed her hand on the seal.
"Feed."
---
Final Blow?
In the sky, Oscar faced the blade of Heaven.
Therion hurled it.
It blazed across the sky, cutting through dimensions, aiming straight for Oscar's heart.
Oscar raised his arm.
The blade pierced through—straight into his chest.
Silence.
Then—
Black flame erupted.
The sword trembled. Cracks spread across it. Then it shattered, swallowed by the void now pulsing within Oscar's core.
Therion stepped back in horror.
"You…"
Oscar's voice was cold, echoing from both within and without.
"I am no longer abyss."
His skin cracked—light and dark spilling from within.
"I am the end."