"...And it will never be mine."
The words left Xayne's lips like a blade slashing through the heavy stillness. His voice was hoarse, weighed down by anger, pain, and something even deeper — a rejection of everything that man stood for.
The man, the Original Paragon, blinked once as if he hadn't heard right. His golden eyes, once so steady and powerful, wavered slightly with a glimmer of incredulity.
But Xayne didn't give a damn about his reaction. He pushed forward, each word bitten out with more force than the last.
"You know," Xayne began, his voice edged with a sneer, "I always wondered why everything in my life had to be shit. Why I was born into a cursed race, hated by the world for nothing more than breathing. Why, no matter what I did, I could never just live like everyone else."
He gritted his teeth, the memories surfacing like old wounds tearing open. His hands clenched so hard the skin on his knuckles whitened.
"And then I found out the great hero, the legend everyone sings about, was nothing but another selfish bastard. You're the source of it all. The foundation upon which this shitty world was built. You created it all with your grand ideals... and then created my race to suffocate beneath it."
The man said nothing, only listening. His face, carved from stone, remained unreadable.
Xayne's voice grew sharper, bitterness thick in every syllable. "You created my race — your precious Axiar — and made us the most despised beings alive, all because we had some innate potential that wasn't allowed to exist.
"I lost the little home I had before I even knew what one was. Sold into slavery by the time I was seven, treated like a damn animal. Became some bastard's experiment until I was ten."
His fingers dug into his own pale, weak flesh, the pain grounding him even as fury boiled inside.
"Six more years, running across the realms, hiding from hunters, slavers, scientists — anyone who wanted a piece of the 'last' Axiar. And today... the one day I thought I'd finally be allowed to disappear... your damned white destiny showed up to drag me right back into the spotlight."
"Because of that destiny of yours, I now have a target so big it could blot out the sun on my back. I could have been left to my mediocrity but you had to bring me more shit."
He forced himself onto one shaky foot, then the other, standing tall despite the pain wrecking his battered body.
"You," Xayne hissed, "are the start of every bit of suffering I've ever experienced. And now you expect me to just pick up your destiny and carry it like a good little successor?"
A short, bitter laugh escaped him. "Who the hell do you think you are?"
The man was silent, gold eyes staring at him intently. There was no anger, no sadness — just a deep, ancient stillness, like a mountain weathering a storm.
For a moment, Xayne thought he'd rendered him speechless. He almost smirked in triumph — until the man finally spoke.
"Do you want revenge?"
The question was so blunt, so unexpected, that Xayne blinked in disbelief.
"What the hell are you talking about?" he snapped.
The man repeated it, calm and certain: "Do you want revenge against those who hurt you?"
Xayne gritted his teeth. Of course he did. What kind of question was that? His very soul burned with the need for it. But he wasn't about to admit that aloud.
"My revenge," Xayne muttered darkly, "is none of your damn business."
The man nodded as if he'd expected that. "If you want revenge... take my Legacy."
Xayne scowled, confused and furious. "What?"
The man's voice was steady as he continued, each word carrying the weight of centuries. "At my peak, there was no being in this world who could stand against me. My Legacy carries that same potential. If you want the power to crush those who wronged you — to rip down the world that spat on you — then take it."
Xayne looked at him like he had grown a second head. Was he serious?
But then his mind caught up with his anger. He narrowed his eyes sharply. "And what about your so-called duty, huh? Protecting Mythiax and the realms and whatever bullshit oath you swore?"
The man said nothing. He didn't have to. The answer was clear.
Even if Xayne took the Legacy for himself, that duty would be shackled to him — an eternal chain disguised as a gift.
Xayne exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head slowly. He looked down at the golden Codex still burning faintly in his hand, feeling the heavy weight of it, the ancient promise it carried.
And then, with a cold finality, he tightened his grip... and threw it.
The Codex spun through the air like a fallen star, landing neatly in the man's outstretched hand.
"I'd rather never get my revenge than live as your puppet," Xayne spat venomously. His voice was low, but each word struck like a hammer. "Take your damn Legacy and rot."
Above them, the endless starry sky shimmered — silent witnesses to the rejection of a destiny that had once changed the world.
The man stared at the Codex resting in his palm, its golden sheen surpacing the pale light of the starry sky above. Slowly, he raised his gaze back to Xayne, his voice steady and low.
"Are you certain of the choice you're making?"
Xayne scowled darkly, fire burning in his storm-grey eyes. His body trembled from exhaustion and blood loss, but there was not a shred of doubt in his voice as he spat out,
"I'm more than sure. In fact, you know those things you're so desperate to protect Mythiax from? I really, really hope they win. I'll be smiling when they tear it all apart."
A stillness fell between them, thick and unnatural. For a heartbeat, neither moved, locked in a frozen tableau of defiance and cold judgment.
Then Xayne saw it — the smallest shift in the man's rigid golden gaze. A flicker of something.
Before he could even react, pain exploded through his gut.
He gasped, staggering. His eyes widened as he looked down — the man had closed the distance between them in an instant, and his arm was buried straight through Xayne's stomach, crimson blood dripping from his fingers.
Coughing violently, Xayne's legs buckled as he clutched weakly at the man's arm. Blood welled in his throat, spilling from the corner of his lips.
When he finally managed to raise his head, he met the man's gaze — as steady and detached as before, utterly unshaken by what he'd just done.
The man exhaled slowly, almost casually.
"A shame," he said, voice devoid of emotion. "The last of my creations, lost to such pitiful shortsightedness. If you weren't the Zenith of the race... I could have simply waited for another among them to rise. But here we are."
Xayne, struggling against the dark curtain creeping at the edge of his vision, mustered enough strength to snarl,
"Y-You bastard..."
Blood pooled in his mouth, and his voice cracked from the effort.
The man barely acknowledged his words.
"I don't have the luxury to entertain the tantrums of a self-absorbed child," he said, his tone colder than the void above them. "I had hoped... to rest. To entrust my duty to a worthy successor. But you've left me with no choice."
Xayne, confused and furious, clutched at the man's arm weakly. "W-What are you... planning...?" he gasped.
The man leaned in closer, his face expressionless, his voice a whisper only Xayne could hear. "I am going to take your body," he said simply. "And I will fulfill my duty myself."
The weight of the words hit Xayne harder than the pain in his gut.
First, this bastard had ruined his race — built him into a cursed existence.Now, he was going to steal his body and wear it like a mask, marching around the world using his face, all while championing a cause Xayne loathed.
"You—You ruined... everything... in my... life..." Xayne rasped, rage pouring from his broken voice. "And now... you're stealing... it too...?"
The man's gaze didn't waver.
"I do not care for the childish grievances you harbor," he said without a flicker of remorse. "My only concern is ensuring Mythiax and its people survive the horrors to come."
As he spoke, he began to pull his arm back, preparing to rip it out in one clean, decisive motion.
But suddenly, he paused.
Xayne's hand had seized his arm with surprising strength, stopping him.
The man frowned slightly — and then blinked as something strange happened.
Xayne... was laughing.
Broken, blood-choked, but unmistakably laughing. A rough, ragged sound that bubbled out of his torn throat.
The man stared, momentarily thrown off by the insane sight.
Through the blood dripping from his lips, Xayne grinned savagely, his teeth stained red. His body trembled, not from fear — but from something almost resembling triumph.
"You... you have no idea..." Xayne croaked, his voice rasping but filled with a venomous satisfaction. "...how happy you just made me."
The man narrowed his golden eyes slightly. "What nonsense are you muttering now?"
Xayne's grip tightened, nails digging into the man's flesh. He coughed again, spitting blood onto the ground between them before continuing,
"Do you know what it's like... to hate someone with every fiber of your being... yet the whole damn world sings songs about how great they are? To curse at their very memory, and watch everyone worship them like a god?"
He shook his head weakly, that crazed grin never leaving his battered face."You just gave me the best gift I could've asked for. You proved you're exactly the piece of shit I always hoped you were."
The man said nothing at first, golden eyes locked onto Xayne's furious, burning ones.
"It changes nothing," he said finally. "Your satisfaction will not alter the outcome. I will still take your body, and complete what must be done."
But Xayne only shook his head slowly, blood dripping from his chin onto the golden earth.
"No..." he whispered, voice like steel beneath the blood and brokenness. "Something's definitely going to change."
"Seeing you today... And finally learning of your true nature... Has given me the motivation I need to keep going..."
The man frowned, sensing something off — too late.
With a final surge of desperate strength, Xayne reached out and grabbed the Codex from the man's other hand.
The Codex flared violently the moment Xayne's fingers closed around it, golden light spilling out like a miniature sun tearing through the darkness.
The man's eyes widened for the first time, real alarm flashing across his ageless face.
At first it was subtle — a faint wisp of darker color swirling at the edges. But then it grew.
The golden radiance became tainted — blood-red tendrils lacing through the light like veins, corrupting the purity into something far more feral and vicious.
The man's eyes widened, instinct flaring. Without hesitation, he tried to rip the Codex away — but Xayne pulled him closer instead, dragging the man's arm deeper into the wound gouged through his gut. A brutal, raw move born from a hatred so pure it seemed to set the very air on fire.
"Let go!" the man growled, pulling back harder.
But Xayne, fueled by something far beyond physical strength, refused to yield. His teeth were gritted, blood leaking freely from his mouth, yet his grip was iron.
Around them, the world began to change.
The endless golden expanse of the plane — that serene, sacred ground — started to rot before the man's disbelieving eyes.
The golden crust beneath their feet cracked open with hideous, groaning sounds. From those cracks seeped a deep, venomous red light, staining everything it touched. The beautiful starry sky above twisted, bleeding out their starry blue hue and darkening into a heavy, malicious crimson.
The air grew heavier, the light harsher, as the once-holy ground transformed into a landscape of seeping corruption and violence.
Structures made of gold — distant, faint outlines on the horizon — began to wither into cruel, jagged shapes. Pillars bent and twisted, reshaping themselves into gnarled spikes that bled a constant, weeping mist of red.
Even the air smelled different now — not the crisp neutrality of a sanctified realm, but a coppery, sharp scent like blood soaking into scorched earth.
The man turned, looking around, feeling something deep and primal in this place change.
This was not supposed to be possible.
"What—what the hell are you doing?!" the man shouted, a flicker of uncertainty cracking through his imperious tone.
But Xayne wasn't even paying attention. His vision was darkening rapidly — blackness seeping in from the edges, reality slipping further away — yet his mind was clear, sharper than it had ever been.
Through gritted teeth, he rasped out,"You... should've stayed dead... all those years ago..."
The man pulled harder, desperation creeping into his movements, but Xayne only dug in further, his nails tearing into the ancient flesh of the man's arm.
"And now..." Xayne continued, each word dripping with loathing, "...I'll make sure... even if they hate me more than they already do... that your 'duty' will never be fulfilled."
The Codex in his hand shuddered violently, its transformation reaching completion.
Where once it was pure gold, shining with the promise of salvation and hope, now it was a thing of bloody malice — a tome dripping with crimson light, as if forged from the heart of a dying god.
The golden sun that had been its embedded image had completely transformed into a blood red star.
It pulsed with a heartbeat of its own — a dark, heavy rhythm that seemed to shake the entire corrupted plane with each beat.
Xayne's strength finally began to wane, his body slumping forward as the darkness overwhelmed his senses.
But even as he slipped into unconsciousness, a savage, grim smile carved its way onto his bloodied face.
He had defiled the perfect dream the Original Paragon tried to build.
And as the last remnants of his sight vanished, swallowed by the abyss, Xayne's final thought was clear and unyielding:
I will make sure to spite this piece of shit for as long as I live... As that bastard's duty... will never be mine.