The crystalline chamber was silent save for the distant hum of the arcane constructs keeping Nyvaris alive. The warmth that once filled the room had vanished, replaced with a stillness so absolute, even breath seemed blasphemous. The food sat untouched, and the air grew heavy as Rudra's gaze bore into Varvatos.
"You expect me to believe all of this?" Rudra said, his voice laced with sharp skepticism. "You speak as though you've transcended the mortal coil, yet here you sit, sipping tea and playing the philosopher."
His golden eyes narrowed.
"I see power in you, yes. But power means nothing without purpose. So I ask again—what are you really, Varvatos? What game are you playing?"
The Emperor's tone wasn't just accusatory—it was challenging. And it echoed with something darker… a will not entirely his own.
Velgrynd, seated beside Rudra, stiffened. She could sense it too—the subtle pulse of something foreign beneath his words. Michael's influence. It was tightening its grip again, like a viper coiling around Rudra's soul.
Varvatos, up until this moment serene and patient, slowly set his teacup down with a soft click. His expression had not changed—but the atmosphere did.
"I did not come here to be interrogated by a pawn," he said, calmly. "Nor will I tolerate being weighed like some untested ruler desperate to prove himself."
The room shifted.
Velgrynd stood instantly, eyes igniting in brilliant flame, wings half-unfurled. "You dare—"
But she froze.
So did the world.
The chamber cracked—literally fractured. Splits in reality itself spiderwebbed across the floor and walls like glass under pressure. Light bent in unnatural angles. Sound fled. Magicules screamed and scattered like frightened children.
It was as if Nyvaris had become the eye of a collapsing dimension.
Varvatos stood—not like a man, but like a force. Space recoiled around him. The world trembled in silence. His presence carved through the layers of existence, brushing aside reality like cobwebs.
"Let me remind you both," he said, his voice now carrying the echo of eternity, "what lies beyond strength."
A vortex tore open behind him—a swirling abyss that showed not darkness, but memories. Galaxies burning, gods kneeling, titans weeping as they were unmade. Each flicker was a story of cosmic annihilation—and Varvatos stood at the center of them all, untouched. Unchallenged.
Velgrynd felt her knees weaken.
Her instincts, honed through eons of battle, screamed at her: You cannot win. You cannot even survive.
But she clenched her fists and stood her ground, flames roaring around her in defiance. Still… she didn't move.
Rudra—his breath caught in his throat. His body trembled, and for the first time in his long, hardened life, he felt a cold, primal emotion bloom in his chest.
Fear.
His mind tried to process it, tried to rationalize. No one should be this powerful. Not even Veldanava radiated this kind of… depth.
He couldn't breathe properly. Something in him—Michael—howled in rage, thrashing like a cornered beast.
But even the skill that tried to usurp control of his soul… faltered.
Because it, too, understood what now stood before them.
Varvatos raised his hand.
With a flick of his fingers, reality rewound.
The chamber knit itself back together. Time realigned. The void closed. The world remembered itself—but it did so cautiously, as though afraid to offend him again.
The tea table reappeared. The food, the drinks, the very air—reset to its calm equilibrium. But none in the room were the same.
Velgrynd's flames sputtered and died. Her eyes were wide, heart racing.
Rudra lowered himself slowly back into his seat, unable to mask the tremor in his fingers. He'd faced monsters. Gods. Guy. Even Veldanava.
But this was something else.
"I..." Rudra began, but his voice cracked.
Varvatos sat once more, his expression cool.
"I am not your enemy, Rudra. Not unless you make me one. But I will not be examined like a lesser beast."
His eyes gleamed. "Now... ask your next question, Emperor. If you still have the will."
Rudra swallowed hard.
And for the first time, he didn't speak right away.
Even Velgrynd, once ablaze with protective fury, looked to Varvatos with wariness now. Not as an enemy… but as something beyond comprehension.
Something you did not provoke.
Not unless you were ready to lose everything.
The oppressive silence following Varvatos' divine display clung to the air like an unseen pressure, coiling around Rudra's lungs. The chamber, once regal and still, now felt more like a sanctum of judgment. Each breath he took tasted like iron, heavy with humiliation and dread.
Velgrynd stood beside him, still tense, her aura flickering like fire fighting against an incoming tide. Her gaze hadn't left Varvatos, not since the moment he revealed a sliver of what he truly was.
And Varvatos… he sat there calmly, as if he hadn't just made gods tremble.
Velzard rested nearby, elegance personified, but her ice-cold eyes watched Rudra with quiet calculation.
Rudra tried to speak—his voice cracked. "Who… what are you…?"
Varvatos leaned forward, hands calmly folded. "A remnant of an age long forgotten. One who remembers what balance truly meant, before mortals mistook thrones for divinity."
The words stung. Not because they were cruel, but because they were spoken without effort — as if even contempt was beneath him.
Rudra's fingers twitched, anger bubbling beneath the surface, anger born from fear — something he hadn't known in centuries. The cold voice in his mind began again, insidious and sharp:
"He is a threat to order. A danger to your reign. He must not be allowed to exist."
Rudra gritted his teeth. "I've brought peace to the world. I've ended wars. Stabilized empires. I have given meaning to chaos. Who are you to judge me?"
Varvatos raised a brow, eyes unreadable. "Peace born of subjugation is simply silence forced upon the broken."
Rudra's aura flared—he stepped forward. "You think you're better than me?"
Velgrynd moved with him, protective, her lips beginning to part with a warning, but Varvatos stood slowly. The air shifted—as if reality itself bent around his will. The faintest motion, and the entire room seemed to shrink, walls groaning under an invisible weight.
"No," Varvatos said softly. "I don't think I'm better than you."
He paused, then added with iron behind his voice.
"I know I am."
The force behind those words struck deeper than any sword. Rudra recoiled, eyes wide—not at the words themselves, but at what they meant.
He knew the truth of it.
And it shattered something inside.
Velgrynd's flames sparked, but Velzard raised a hand calmly toward her. "Don't," she warned. "You'll only burn yourself."
Velgrynd hesitated, torn between fury and fear. She had never feared for Rudra. But now… she saw him differently. Smaller. Breakable.
Rudra stepped back, eyes wide with rage and shame.
"I won't forget this."
Varvatos tilted his head slightly. "No. You won't."
The Emperor's hands curled into fists. His voice shook. "You think this is over?"
The voice within whispered again:
"Strike him down. Act now. Use the throne's power. Destroy him—"
"ENOUGH FOR TODAY, EMPEROR," Varvatos thundered, voice suddenly louder than thunder, deeper than time itself.
The very air trembled.
He took a single step forward.
"Before you cross a line… where there is no coming back."
Rudra froze.
And then—Varvatos snapped his fingers.
In a flash of divine light, Rudra and Velgrynd vanished.
—
Eastern Empire — Throne Room
The sound of rushing wind vanished as Rudra and Velgrynd materialized in the vast golden chamber of the Eastern Empire's capital. The guards outside flinched in surprise as the two reappeared, standing at the base of the imperial throne.
Silence.
Rudra's eyes darted around, hands trembling. He staggered slightly, gripping the throne's edge. Velgrynd said nothing. Her mind was spinning.
He looked at his hands—still shaking. The emperor, once the mightiest being of this age, now felt like a child grasping at broken toys.
"I couldn't even touch him," Rudra whispered.
Velgrynd placed a hand on his shoulder again, more gently this time. She didn't know what to say. She had faced gods, monsters, and calamities. But this was something beyond their scale.
Rudra clenched his fists tighter. "No one… no one has ever made me feel like that."
The voice returned, colder than ever:
"He humiliated you. He weakened you. This must not stand. Eliminate him. All costs. No mercy."
He shuddered. "I'll find a way," he muttered under his breath. "I'll make him pay. I'll—"
Velgrynd turned to him. "Rudra…"
He looked up, and for the first time, she saw something foreign in his eyes.
Something not his own.