High above the mortal plane, in the radiant skies of Celestara, a city forged from threads of starlight and golden flame hovered in serene stillness. It was the divine realm—where time bent at the will of gods, and mortal memory could not comprehend the scope of its beauty.
At its heart stood the Hall of Eternity, a sanctuary of perfect geometry and harmony, guarded by Archons carved from divine essence. Here, fates were sealed, destinies penned, and judgments passed upon the lesser realms.
But today, the stillness was broken.
At the very center of the hall, a body lay. Robes of immaculate white were soaked in divine ichor—thicker than blood, brighter than gold, and yet... fading. The air quivered with disbelief. Every inch of the Hall, every whisper of light, recoiled from what had occurred.
A god—one of their own—was dead.
The Archons, twelve in number, stood in a silent circle around the fallen form. Their armor shimmered with restrained power, yet none dared speak, not even the proudest among them.
It was Eryndor, the Shadow Serpent, who broke the silence. His voice, normally smooth and mocking, now carried an edge of grim authority.
"Who did this?"
He knelt beside the corpse, his taloned fingers grazing the wound etched into the god's chest. As his energy brushed the mark, it hissed violently and rejected his touch. Even Eryndor, with power that once shattered stars, pulled back as if burned.
"This is not the Abyss," he muttered. "And it is not divine in origin."
Another Archon, plated in silver and bearing the crest of judgment, spoke up. "Then what?"
Eryndor's slitted eyes flicked toward the great celestial window, through which the mortal world could be seen.
"…This is Kael."
Murmurs erupted.
"That's impossible—"
"He is mortal!"
"He could not—"
Eryndor rose. "He was mortal."
At the far end of the hall, seated atop a throne of burning constellations, the High Lord of the Pantheon leaned forward. His expression was unreadable, but even he could no longer dismiss what they all feared.
A god had died by Kael's hand. And worse—he had not even lifted a blade.
Far below, deep within the Imperial Palace, Kael stood in quiet contemplation.
His war chamber was filled with shadows and candlelight, the map before him a tapestry of nations, divine sanctuaries, abyssal gates, and the crumbling remnants of once-powerful empires. But his attention was elsewhere.
He had felt it the moment it happened—not as a sound, nor a flash of light, but as a fold in the weave of reality. As if a lock had been undone in the foundations of existence itself.
The divine had bled. And it had acknowledged him.
The Empress, standing a few paces behind him, spoke softly, almost reverently.
"You planned this."
Kael didn't turn. "No. I prepared for it."
She watched him in silence. She had seen kings rise, empires fall, and gods demand worship. But never had she stood beside someone who had made a god die in silence.
Selene, ever the skeptic, approached from the side. Her voice was steadier than before, though her hands trembled faintly.
"You took something from Vael'Tor. Something none of us understand."
Kael turned to her now. His golden eyes—once merely cold—now radiated an alien clarity.
"I did not take," he said calmly. "I accepted a truth others have long denied."
Selene's lips parted, but she said nothing.
The Empress narrowed her eyes. "What truth?"
"That divinity," Kael said, turning back to the map, "is not power. It is illusion. And illusions can be broken."
In the heart of the Abyss, where logic burned and chaos reigned, she watched.
The Queen of the Abyss, wrapped in tendrils of darkness and ancient longing, sat upon her throne of living void. Her expression—soft and sinister—betrayed a single truth: concern.
Even she, who had devoured primordial horrors and danced with madness itself, felt a flicker of uncertainty. Not because Kael was in danger. But because what he had just done had shaken the balance of creation itself.
Her voice, smooth as silk and sharp as razors, echoed through the Abyss.
"They will come for him now. The divine cowards."
Around her, the Abyss shifted. Shadows flinched. Reality bent. Even the deepest horrors hid themselves.
"But let them try."
She stood, her form expanding far beyond comprehension. Her presence poured into a dozen realms at once. Her son had awakened something ancient—something older than even her hunger.
Now, she would unmake any who threatened him.
Atop the Imperial Palace's highest balcony, where only Kael stood in solitude, the wind turned cold. The stars dimmed.
Something was coming.
Kael did not react. He knew what approached.
A figure materialized behind him—a radiant form of white and gold, neither fully solid nor wholly spirit. A divine being. An Archon.
"You are bold," Kael said without turning, "appearing before me without invitation."
The Archon's voice echoed with divine resonance. "This is your only warning, mortal."
Now Kael turned. His gaze locked with the Archon's, and for a moment, silence reigned.
"Warning?" Kael's voice was filled with amusement. "Tell me… do you think I fear your kind?"
The Archon hesitated. It had been sent to intimidate—to bring divine wrath. But what it faced was something… wrong. Something no longer bound by the rules it understood.
"You've disrupted the balance. Killed one of our own."
Kael stepped forward. "No. I corrected an imbalance. And I am far from finished."
The Archon raised its hand, divine power gathering—yet it paused. Kael didn't move. He didn't threaten.
He simply smiled.
"Do you feel that?" he asked.
The air darkened. The stars themselves began to flicker as if watching.
The Archon turned slightly, uneasy.
Kael leaned in, whispering, "That's not me. That's the Abyss preparing to devour your throne."
The Archon vanished—fled back to Celestara in silence.
And Kael, standing alone beneath a sky of false constellations, whispered to the heavens:
"I'm coming."
In a forgotten sanctuary buried beneath time, a high priest of Celestara kneeled in prayer.
His voice trembled as he chanted ancient hymns, begging for divine protection, for the gods to descend and restore order.
Then—silence.
The candles flickered.
And then he bled.
A deep gash tore across his chest—not by steel, not by spell, but by something unseen, unmade, alien.
His screams echoed for seconds only.
Before his divine essence, the tether to his godly patron, shattered.
And a voice whispered through the temple halls:
"He has already begun."
The body crumpled. The altar cracked.
And another god vanished from existence.
Kael had not moved from his balcony.
He had not spoken a spell.
He had merely willed it.
To be continued...