Darius stood over the shattered remains of the Revenant King, the air around him vibrating with unseen forces.
His armor hung in tatters from his body, his flesh flickering between void-light and corrupted divinity. His breathing was ragged, each inhale drawing shards of reality into his lungs, each exhale sending ripples through the fabric of existence.
The armies around him—the rebels, the corrupted, the faithful—no longer fought.
They only stared, paralyzed by the storm that Darius had become.
He should have felt victorious.
He should have roared his triumph to the broken heavens.
But instead, a terrible hollowness opened within him—
—an endless well, pulling everything he was, had been, would ever be, into a black maw that knew no bottom.
Above, the black obelisk cracked further.
And the Voice Beneath whispered its final curse:
"You have no place in the song of existence."
"Your name is stripped.
Your memory—devoured.
Your purpose—nullified."
It began slowly.
