The Supreme God had fallen.
The God of War was no more.
The words echoed like thunder over the scorched ruins of the capital, rolling through blood-soaked streets, tearing the air like poisoned fangs.
The demons howled in ecstasy — their voices twisted, vile, like the whispers of madmen rotting in darkness.
They weren't just celebrating — they were savoring every breath of their triumph, drinking in the fall, feasting on the end.
Kael stood amidst the ruins, surrounded by an inferno born of hell itself.
The golden palaces of the Celestial Realm, once blinding with divine brilliance, now writhed in black flame like living things.
The fire didn't just burn — it tore, devoured, greedily consuming every trace of beauty that had towered over this world for centuries.
Stone columns collapsed with dull, cracking roars, yielding to the merciless will of the blaze.
The bodies of fallen immortals smoldered, releasing the stench of death into the air.
This wasn't mere destruction.
It was slaughter. Desecration.
A feast of hell, held upon the bones of gods.
The demons circled around him, their black armor gleaming in the firelight, twisted faces carved into cruel, mocking grins.
They laughed — sharp, ragged, with a hoarse delight, like predators finally tearing into a long-hunted prey.
Their eyes, twin embers burning deep in scarred faces, darted across the battlefield in search of survivors.
They craved blood.
Kael slowly tightened his grip on the hilt of his golden sword.
So hard, his knuckles turned white — but he didn't let go.
His breath was steady, heavy — like that of a beast before the leap.
His eyes burned with cold fury, gleaming like a blade at dawn.
All the pain, all the horror of this night boiled within him, yet his face remained marble-calm.
He took a step forward. Lifted his head.
And his gaze locked onto a single figure at the heart of the chaos.
The one for whom this world had plunged into darkness.
Kael walked forward — slowly, step by step, as if wading through thick, frozen time.
Every movement felt like swimming through a nightmare carved in ice.
Around him, demons ravaged the doomed world, screaming in ecstasy, rejoicing in a hoarse chorus of madness.
They danced through the fire, gnawed on the flesh of the dead, tore the fallen immortals to pieces — and yet none of them, not one, spared him a glance.
They had already won.
They thought it was over.
But Kael heard nothing but the thunder of his own blood — the wild drum of his heart.
He saw no crumbling palaces, no black tongues of flame devouring the sky.
There was only one image, seared into his mind, burning before his eyes like a glowing blade.
At the very heart of the chaos — he stood.
A dark creature, cloaked in shadow itself, wearing a mask of black gold twisted into a predatory, mocking grin.
Those golden lips didn't just sneer at the fallen heavens — they laughed in the face of creation, trampling its pride beneath their heel.
His hood concealed his head, and only that wicked smile gleamed in the firelight — alive, like the mockery of the Abyss itself.
Kael clenched his jaw.
No one had ever seen his face.
Not mortals. Not gods.
Only that cursed mask, only that void-black cloak, woven from nothingness, hiding even the suggestion of a human form.
What does he hide?
What hideous truth lies beneath those smooth, lifeless gloves?
And at his feet, sprawled across the cold marble floor —a body.
Kael froze.
The God of War.
His Father.
Tauren — once mighty, unbreakable — now lay in the dust.
His once-indomitable form no longer radiated that eternal strength it had always carried.
His silver hair was matted, tangled with ash and blood, strands clinging to a face disfigured by death.
His gray eyes, wide open, were frozen in a lifeless stare — fixed upward, locked on the figure in the black cloak towering above him.
And beside him, like some meaningless, broken scrap of metal, lay his sword.
Tauren's golden blade.
The embodiment of his power, the symbol of divine steadfastness — shattered in two, a pitiful toy in the shadows of death.
Kael didn't move.
Pain sank into his chest like a blade.
His throat tightened. His lungs refused to work — as if the air itself had rejected his breath.
- …Father…
The word escaped his lips in a whisper, barely audible.
But in that whisper lived terror.
Grief. Hatred.
Kael couldn't.
Wouldn't.
Refused to believe it.
His mind rebelled, screaming that this was impossible — that it was a lie, a cruel illusion born of hellfire and the frantic pounding of his own heart.
But no.
This was no illusion.
This was real.
He had seen it with his own eyes.
He had watched the sky split open.
Watched creation itself shudder as two forces collided — so immense that even time held its breath, waiting for the outcome.
The Supreme God, Tauren — unshakable, legendary, terrifying, whose name demons whispered in fear and mortals praised in prayer — had fallen.
Fallen.
How?
How?!
Kael clenched his teeth, grinding the pain into his jaw — but even that couldn't drown out the despair clawing its way up from within.
If even he had fallen…
If even his father — the symbol of strength, the shield behind which gods and mortals alike had taken shelter — had proven not strong enough…
Then what now?
Who was left to stop this nightmare?
Who could stand against the abomination that loomed before him?
Deep down, Kael already knew the answer.
No one.
He remembered that moment.
Remembered how the golden light of Tauren's blade cut through the darkness — how the God of War surged forward without doubt, without hesitation — a lightning bolt through the storm.
And he remembered his opponent — darkness made flesh, writhing, pulsing, flowing along the enemy's blade like venom.
The Abyss, held in his hands.
Kael had heard the clash — the moment their swords met — a strike so violent it cracked the air itself, made the heavens tremble.
And then… that sound.
The tearing.
The shattering.
The sickening crunch — like a bone snapped in the grip of something brutal and merciless.
A sound that made his heart stop.
The golden sword — his father's pride, his divine will, his strength, his very soul — cracked.
Split.
Shattered like fragile glass.
And without pause, without a flicker of hesitation — the god of darkness struck.
His blade pierced Tauren's heart, tore through divine flesh, and ripped apart the very essence of his power.
Kael remembered the fall.
Slow. Endless.
As if eternity itself had held its breath to witness the descent.
And yet, even then, he couldn't — wouldn't — believe it.
It was impossible.
But it wasn't.
And now, here he stood — before the sight.
Before the ashes of a legend.
Before one who was once unshakable… and still, had fallen.
His father lay upon the cold marble — lifeless. Defeated.
And beside him, his sword — shattered, broken pieces now stripped of meaning, of strength, of everything they once were.
And above it all — that dark figure, rising from the chaos.
A black cloak from which darkness itself seemed to spill, and a golden grin that gleamed in the reflection of hellfire.
Kael looked up.
He was staring into the face of the most terrible enemy this world had ever known.
Kael looked straight into the face of the god of darkness —
into that black, vile emptiness concealed behind a mocking golden mask.
A predatory smile carved into cold metal — as if it already knew everything.
As if this creature had foreseen every step, every thought, every flicker of despair that now clawed at Kael's chest.
It knew.
And it laughed.
Kael understood:
If Tauren had fallen —
if even the God of War, the heart of the Celestial Realm, had collapsed beneath that blade —
then no one would stand a chance.
Not mortals.
Not demons.
Not even gods.
What choice did he have?
He was the last.
The last.
Of the ten true gods who once ruled the skies, only he remained.
The light of the others had long since vanished, dissolved into eternity, their bodies consumed by the black fire that now devoured the once-untouchable capital of the gods.
Yes, the ascended gods still existed — those who had once been mortal.
But most of them now lay scattered in the ruins, torn apart by demon blades, their blood seeping into the stone cracks, staining the Celestial Realm in the colors of death.
And amidst this chaos, this merciless annihilation — he was alone.
The final spark.
The last line between this world and absolute darkness.
Kael clenched his jaw until the muscles ached.
He couldn't win.
He knew that. Gods, he knew it all too well.
Even surviving a single blow from that creature would be a miracle.
He might not even last that long.
But if he could wound it — even just once…
If he could leave the tiniest mark on that cursed flesh.
Wouldn't that be enough?
Wouldn't it be enough to wipe that eternal grin off its face, if only for a second?
Wouldn't it be enough to die — but die fighting?
To die beside his father.
Kael drew a deep breath.
Resolve flared in his eyes — pure, burning, bright as the final light of a dying star.
He tightened his grip on the sword. Tighter.
His fingers turned white. Tighter still.
The golden metal trembled in his hand, as if it, too, knew that its wielder was marching to his death.
But Kael hesitated no longer.
No thoughts.
No fear.
No cursed doubts.
He launched himself forward.
Straight at the creature.
Straight into the jaws of darkness itself.
Ready to meet his fate.
Kael surged forward like a meteor, unleashing his first strike — pouring into it all the power, all the pain, all the fury tearing him apart from within.
His golden blade, blazing like the sun itself, sliced through the air, leaving a blinding trail of divine energy behind.
But the sword met only emptiness.
The god of darkness didn't even flinch.
He simply stepped aside — casually, lazily — as if strolling through the ruins of some abandoned palace.
Kael struck at nothing.
His blade cleaved nothing but searing air.
Laughter.
Cold.
Deep.
Slow — like venom.
It echoed through the scorched ruins of the heavens.
"So fiery. So desperate. Beautiful."
Kael gritted his teeth, spun in a whirl of gold, and struck again.
And again.
And again.
His blade blazed in the fire of the dying city, his movements fast, precise, razor-sharp.
Each swing carried the full weight of his strength, the divine magic burning in his veins, threatening to erupt into a storm of flame.
But the god of darkness never raised his sword.
He didn't even try to defend.
He was playing.
He moved with ease, with grace, not a single wasted step — dancing through death itself.
A step left.
A tilt of the head.
A slight turn of the shoulder.
Every time, Kael's blade missed — slicing through empty air, leaving not even a scratch.
He was no longer striking.
He was tearing the world apart.
Magic roared.
Kael poured everything he had into his next attack.
Streams of light, shining like a thousand stars, exploded from his blade and crashed toward the god of darkness like a heavenly storm.
The air quaked.
The earth cracked beneath his feet.
The flash was so blinding that even the demons froze, shielding their eyes.
But when the light faded…
He was still standing.
Untouched.
Unshaken.
And his lazy laughter hadn't changed at all.
"So sad," he said, voice dripping with mockery. "Poor little boy."
Kael lunged again without hesitation, his blade flashing forward — aimed straight for the creature's heart.
But before the strike could land, cold fingers in a black glove closed around his wrist.
The force vanished.
It was like a thousand invisible needles piercing his skin.
Like the very air had crushed the magic out of him — all the strength, all the divine fury, drained in an instant.
Kael flinched.
A moment later, he was flung backward.
He crashed onto the marble floor. Pain tore through his chest. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
The golden sword slipped from his weakened fingers, clattering across the stone.
And the god of darkness simply stood there.
Untouched.
Unmoved.
"You tried," he said mockingly. "But sadly, I'm playing a very different game."
And the golden lips of the mask stretched wider into a smile.
Kael groaned, forcing himself to his feet.
His entire body screamed — every bone felt shattered, his lungs were burning, and his muscles refused to obey.
But stronger than the pain was the despair.
Raw. Acidic.
It burned through him, turned his blood into boiling poison.
He knew he couldn't win.
He knew his strength was nothing against this creature.
But if he couldn't defeat it…
If he couldn't save the heavens…
If he couldn't avenge his father…
Couldn't he at least wound it?
Just a scratch.
Just one moment — to stain that monster with his own blood.
His fingers trembled, but he gripped the hilt of his sword tighter.
There wasn't much left. Just a spark of strength, a flicker of magic.
But it would be enough.
It had to be enough.
Kael sucked in a breath — sharp, ragged, like a drowning man stealing one last gasp before the abyss swallowed him whole.
There was no time left.
No more thinking.
No more anything.
With a cry, he lunged forward.
Lightning.
Wind.
The final burst of light in a world already torn apart.
Kael threw everything into that charge.
Pain.
Rage.
Hope.
Despair.
His blade ignited — gold slashing through the air, splitting the darkness, searing the sky as it flew straight toward the god's heart.
And then…
something unimaginable happened.
As if mocking him.
As if staring straight into his eyes and laughing —
the god of darkness stepped forward.
Right into the blade.
Kael didn't have time to think.
Didn't have time to stop.
The sword went in.
Steel pierced flesh, ripped through muscle, shattered bone.
The black cloak flared open, soaking in the torrent of blood — but the god didn't flinch.
He didn't guard.
He didn't dodge.
He leaned into it.
Let the blade sink in to the hilt.
Blood erupted.
Hot.
Thick.
Scalding.
Too much of it.
It sprayed outward, splashing across the ground, soaking Kael's face, drenching his clothes, sinking into his hair.
Warm and sticky, it filled his eyes, dripped from his chin.
He stood there, panting, his hands still gripping the sword — as if it were trapped inside that monster's chest.
And only then…
the god's body shifted.
A slight movement.
Barely visible.
But real.
Kael drew a breath, feeling warm liquid slip down his lips.
He didn't think. Didn't realize.
He just ran his tongue over cracked lips…
and tasted the blood of the god of darkness.
And in that instant — everything vanished.
Everything.
The demon laughter, thick with madness and cruelty.
The ruined palaces, soaked in the blood of fallen gods.
The fire, blackening the skies, devouring the once-radiant city.
Even the god of darkness — his mask, his mockery — gone.
All of it… gone.
As if it had never existed.
Silence.
Crushing.
Filling every corner of space.
Sinking into bone, into lungs, into the soul itself.
No sound.
No breath.
Not even the faint echo of a falling stone.
Only a thick, suffocating void
where not even one's own breathing could be heard.
Kael spun around, breath catching in his throat.
Nothing.
No one.
Only darkness — thick and suffocating, as if it could be touched, gripped, drowned in like a viscous swamp.
He raised a hand in front of him… but saw nothing.
Not even a silhouette.
Nothing.
His heart began to race.
His breath turned ragged.
He tried to summon light — even the faintest orb, a flicker, a spark, a single drop of the energy that had always lived in his veins.
But… nothing happened.
Kael clenched his teeth and focused harder.
He tried again.
Tensed his muscles, reached inward, forced the power to rise — the power that had always obeyed him.
But it was gone.
He couldn't feel the magic.
At all.
His fingers twitched, grasping at nothing — only cold emptiness.
As if the world around him had been stripped of all substance.
As if nothing existed here but this smothering, impenetrable dark.
Darkness.
Silence.
Void.
Kael turned again, his breath quick and broken.
A chill tightened around his chest, and fear pulsed at the base of his skull.
"Where… am I?" he whispered.
Even his voice sounded hollow — swallowed by the abyss.
Then — like thunder splitting the silence — a voice echoed.
Deep.
Resonant.
Like the air itself trembled under its weight.
"Who are you?"
Kael whipped around, trying to find the source.
But there was no direction.
No point of origin.
The voice came from everywhere —
and somehow…
from within.
It slipped past the surface of thought, digging straight into his mind.
"Who are you?"
The question came again — filling the emptiness like a tide.
Kael swallowed, his throat dry as ash.
His voice trembled, but he forced it out:
"I am Kael.
Son of the Supreme God.
Son of Tauren, the God of War."
A pause.
Silence wrapped around him once more — cold and oppressive.
But not for long.
"Son of Tauren…"
The voice drew out the name, tasting it, savoring it.
"The threads of fate cannot be unraveled."
Kael tensed.
His fingers curled into fists — though it brought no comfort.
He could see nothing.
Feel nothing.
Only the crushing, endless dark.
"Where are you?" he demanded, voice rough, but steady.
"What are you?"
No answer.
Only silence.
Thick.
Heavy.
All-consuming.
And then…
Another crash of thunder.
"Chronas."
Kael instinctively took a step back.
Chronas?
The true god of time—Chronas?
That couldn't be.
He had vanished nearly two hundred years ago — erased from the very flow of time.
The legends claimed he had been consumed by the endless cycles of eternity,
that he had dissolved into the thread of fate itself, ceasing to be anything real.
But this voice…
Thunderous. All-encompassing. Undeniable.
It was impossible.
But darkness does not lie.
The voice echoed again.
"What do you desire, son of Tauren?"
Kael froze.
What do I desire?
His heart slammed once, hard against his ribs.
The question rang in the air, echoing through his mind, piercing the deepest layers of his soul.
"What does your heart want, son of Tauren?"
The voice was even, steady — but there was something beneath it.
A weight.
A test.
As if his answer would decide something far greater than he could imagine.
"Power? Worship?
What do you desire?"
Kael clenched his fists.
Could he lie?
Could he say what they expected from the son of the God of War?
That he craved power?
A seat among the immortals — higher than all others?
That he longed to rule heaven and earth, to crush his enemies with a single gesture?
But that would be a lie.
His blood boiled.
No!
"I want to save the world!"
His voice tore through the silence — sharp, fierce, raw with fury, rising into a shout.
"To save the Celestial Realm.
To destroy the god of darkness.
To rid this world of that filth!"
He didn't hunger for power.
He didn't want worship.
He never dreamed of a throne.
He wanted only one thing.
That the god of darkness be gone —
forever.
The air shuddered.
Not just a vibration. Not just sound.
Reality itself — the very fabric of space — cracked under an unseen force.
And then Chronas's voice boomed, ripping through the void:
"You — son of Tauren — and you call him filth?!"
Kael was thrown back as if struck by a tidal wave of pure fury.
An invisible power hurled him into the dark, tore the breath from his lungs, and for a moment —
his heart stopped.
"Filth?!"
The ground — if it could even be called that — vanished beneath him,
then slammed into his body with brutal force.
He crashed down hard, his back hitting something solid, the impact knocking the air from his chest.
He gasped. Choked.
What was this rage?
Why was Chronas so furious?
But the darkness suddenly filled with laughter.
Quiet.
Low.
Heavy — soaked in sorrow that had no place in the voice of such a mighty being.
"The threads of fate… they truly are tangled in time.
Without my goddess…"
The voice faltered — just for a heartbeat.
And then silence returned.
"It doesn't matter."
Kael forced himself to rise, though his body trembled and his mind still swirled in a storm of emotion.
"You, son of Tauren…
You want to save the world?"
Kael clenched his jaw and lifted his head.
His gaze was steady.
His voice held no hesitation.
"Yes."
"Are you willing to sacrifice everything…
for that?"
He froze.
"Sacrifice what?"
The world was already broken.
The gods were already dead.
His friends, his teacher — all gone.
There was nothing left.
Nothing left to give.
"I have nothing."
Silence returned.
Deep.
Swallowing everything, as if time itself had halted.
And then the voice came again —
heavier than before.
Weighted with urgency. With desperation.
"I do not have much time, son of Tauren.
Promise me, boy.
Swear that you will save my son!"
Kael flinched.
His son?
Chronas had a son?
The true god of time… had a son?
"S-Son?"
The word echoed from his lips — but no answer came.
Only the voice again, louder, pressing.
"Promise me, son of Tauren!
Swear by the heavens —
you will save my son!"
Kael clenched his fists.
He didn't know who he was meant to save.
Didn't know where this son was, or why he needed help.
But one thing he did know —
this voice wasn't pleading.
It was commanding.
And something deep within Kael refused to turn away.
If he could save even one soul…
If it gave him the strength to destroy the god of darkness…
Without hesitation, Kael tore off his armor, baring his chest.
He bit into his finger until blood welled up — the metallic taste sharp on his tongue.
Then he drew a crimson line across his skin —
right over the place where his divine core pulsed.
"I, Kael, son of the Supreme God,
son of Tauren, the God of War — I swear!"
His voice rang out, echoing into the void,
shaking the very fabric of existence.
"I swear to save the son —
the son of the true god, the god of time, Chronas!"
The blood on his chest ignited.
Golden light burst from within him — as if the magic of time itself was flowing into his soul, sinking into the very core of his being.
Reality trembled.
The darkness split apart.
A wave of blinding brilliance surged outward, swallowing everything.
And then Kael saw him.
A man.
Chronas.
He sat on the cold floor, bound in golden chains so massive their weight seemed to press down on the very air.
Glowing seals of ancient magic wrapped his body, stripping him of freedom, stripping him of everything.
His robes — once majestic, perhaps — were now torn and stained, marked by the passage of centuries.
Silver strands of hair fell over his shoulders — tangled, dusty, dulled by confinement.
And then he looked up.
The eyes.
Gold.
Molten gold.
Overflowing with pain.
His lips trembled. He opened his mouth — and his voice came out in a whisper, broken and pleading:
"Save my boy…"
Kael didn't breathe.
"Save my son."
Everything shattered.
The world exploded
like a whirlwind of broken glass.