The portal opened like a bleeding wound in the fabric of unreality.
And through it, Darius walked—not as a god, not as a man, but as a fracture between both.
Kaela and Nyx followed, though even they now kept distance. The air around him shimmered with residual anti-code; mere contact could unravel lesser beings. But they had been forged in his shadow, shaped by his madness. If anyone could survive near him now—it was them.
What greeted them on the other side was not the dominion they had left behind.
It was ash.
Skies once painted with living constellations were now dull and cracked, as though the heavens had starved themselves in mourning. The Obsidian Citadel, once his throne, stood shattered—its spires broken like ribs jutting from a corpse.
And in the distance, where cities once thrived under his rule, there was silence.
No prayers.
No chants.
No fear.
No faith.
Only absence.
