Kol's eyes flickered with disbelief.
"The new God of Darkness?" he repeated, voice steady, though his gut twisted.
Tagariel nodded. "You've already inherited his strength. You've endured the corruption, outlived the curse. The only step left… is to rise above it."
Ashbel leaned forward, his flames dancing excitedly. "You could be a god, Kol. No more running, no more burden. With our guidance, you would ascend—and join us in cleansing the realms."
Mekoriel added, "We offer you a place among us. Fight on our side, and we will erase your sins. No more Devil. No more prophecy. No more threat. Just peace... eternal and pure."
Kol looked at each of them in turn. The thrones. The pride. The certainty. He thought of Lisa's face. Dain's stubborn loyalty. Elizabeth's fury and kindness. Orin. Jacob. Brad. Humanity, flawed and bloody and beautiful.
And he saw it then.
This wasn't salvation.
This was genocide in divine clothing.
"You want to cleanse the world?" Kol's voice was low now, dangerous. "By wiping out the demon realm, the hunters, the vampires, the goddesses—everyone who doesn't fit your perfect plan?"
Diniel nodded, unblinking. "The era of chaos must end."
"Your world ended long ago," Kol said, taking a step forward. "But mine didn't. They still fight. They still try. You call them relics—but they're the ones holding the line while you sit on your golden thrones."
Ashbel's flames flared in irritation. "We offered you freedom."
"You offered me a leash," Kol snapped. "A crown forged from death."
Silence again.
Then Davina stood.
She looked tired. Older than the others, somehow.
"I hoped you would choose peace," she said. "You are not the Devil, Kol. But you are becoming something we may no longer be able to control."
Kol's jaw tightened. "Then maybe it's not me who's out of control."
Tagariel stepped down from her throne, sword appearing in her hand. It shimmered with divine light, forged from the heart of a dying star.
"You reject us," she said, voice laced with finality. "Then you reject the last chance this world has for peace."
Kol's fingers curled into fists, thunder flickering across his arms, black and violet sparks dancing through the air.
"I'll make my own peace," he growled. "Even if I have to tear it from the heavens."
Zemariel's voice rang across the chamber. "Then so be it. The Council has reached its decision."
"Kol Vaelros," Mekoriel declared, rising from his seat, his light growing brighter until it hurt to look at him. "You are hereby sentenced. Should you oppose us, you will be hunted, restrained and erased."
Kol smirked.
"Get in line."
A violent pulse of black lightning rippled from his chest, crashing across the marble floor like a storm given form. The gods flinched—but none struck. Not yet. They weren't ready.
He turned, walking away from their thrones.
As he reached the doors of the temple, Davina's voice called softly behind him.
"You still have time to reconsider."
Kol paused. Just for a moment.
Then he spoke without looking back.
"I already did."
The doors slammed shut behind him, thunder echoing through the divine realm.
The gods stood in silence.
And war, once more, loomed on the edge of the world.