DEMONS OF THE DAWN
---
"You expect us to bow to you?" a soldier shouted, gripping his sword. "You're just one against a thousand of us. What can you possibly do?"
Freya smirked, tilting her head. "A thousand of you?" She chuckled. "It would take far more than that to kill me."
Before the soldiers could react, a voice echoed from the void beside her—low, hungry, and filled with impatience.
"Mum… I'm hungry. Dash and I haven't eaten in days."
The voice belonged to Boss, the massive black demon cat who feasted on human blood.
Another voice, this one more playful, followed.
"They look tasty," Dash purred, his nine tails flickering like shadows in the air. Unlike Boss, Dash only drank blood, savoring every drop.
Freya held up a hand, her voice gentle yet firm. "Calm down, babies. Mama is still talking."
The soldiers stiffened, confused.
"Who the hell are you talking to?" their leader barked.
Freya's smile didn't waver. "My babies are hungry," she said. "So, I'll give you a chance—run. Go home to your mothers while you still can."
Laughter rippled through the soldiers, but it was cut short by a thunderous roar. The ground trembled as a voice, deep and laced with raw power, rumbled through the air.
"No one belittles my queen."
The battlefield fell silent.
A soldier, face pale, slowly lowered his sword. "That voice… No, it can't be…" He turned to his comrades, panic creeping into his voice. "I know that voice. That's the Demon God."
Their leader scoffed. "Impossible!"
Freya exhaled softly and turned away. "I warned you."
As she walked forward, the air behind her warped, and from the void stepped two towering figures—Boss and Dash.
Boss licked his lips. "Lunch is served."
Then came the screams.
One by one, the soldiers fell. Blood stained the earth as the demons feasted.
Somewhere in the distance, a lone survivor whispered in terror, his voice barely audible over the carnage.
"The Mother of Demons… Freya… is in town."
---
The battlefield was painted in blood. The dying screams of soldiers filled the air, echoing like the wails of the damned. Yet, to the Demon God, it was a melody—one that pleased him deeply.
"This… this is music to my ears," he murmured, closing his eyes as though savoring a symphony.
As dawn broke, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Demons gathered from all corners of the realm, their heads bowed in silent reverence. Towering behemoths stood alongside smaller fiends, each one waiting in disciplined stillness.
In the distance, footsteps echoed.
Freya emerged from the mist, walking toward them with slow, measured grace. The cold, merciless gaze she had worn in battle softened, and then, like the rising sun, she smiled.
"Mum is home."
A deafening roar erupted from the assembled demons.
"All hail the Mother of Demons!" they chanted, before dispersing to resume their duties.
Freya's gaze swept over them before she called out a single name.
"Dearest."
A deep, rumbling voice answered instantly.
"Speak, for I listen."
Freya's expression twisted in annoyance. His tone—his presence—felt different.
She had expected the soft, innocent voice of the one she had once cradled in her arms. But instead, she was met with the voice of war, raw and commanding.
Her brow furrowed. "I don't like that tone."
In the City
The rumors spread like wildfire.
Whispers filled the streets—fear and relief interwoven in every hushed conversation. The presence of the Mother of Demons meant protection, yet one wrong move could send a soul back to its creator.
A lone soldier stumbled through the palace doors, his armor stained red with the blood of his fallen comrades. He dropped to one knee before the king, his breath ragged.
"Your Majesty…" he gasped. "Freya… is beyond our expectations."
The king's grip on his throne tightened.
"She looks frail, but the beings behind her… they are symbols of power itself. I watched my comrades fall, and she never lifted a finger. It was… a massacre."
The king's face paled. He had expected a formidable opponent—but not this.
"If she has come here, we have no choice but to welcome her," he said at last, his voice laced with reluctant acceptance. "After all, she is no ordinary person."
He turned to his attendants.
"Spread the word. Let the rumors reach her ears."
"Yes, my king."
And so, the city braced itself.
For the arrival of a queen unlike any other.
The Queen's Will
Freya sat upon a throne unlike any other—a towering seat of jagged obsidian, crafted by the hands of demons themselves. The armrests bore intricate carvings of ancient wars, and the shadows around it seemed to breathe with life.
Beside her stood a woman of otherworldly beauty, her golden eyes glowing like embers in the dim light. Though delicate in appearance, she radiated an aura of silent destruction.
"Havoc," Freya called.
Without hesitation, the demoness dropped to one knee, bowing her head in obedience.
"Yes, Mother."
Freya's jaw tightened.
.
"I hate it when my babies act like they don't know me."
From the darkness, a familiar voice chuckled.
"And I love it."
Dearest stepped forward, his smirk evident even in the gloom. His towering frame cast a long shadow, his presence a weight that suffocated even the bravest of souls.
"But as long as we are not alone, treat us as you do the others," he added, his voice carrying a teasing edge.
Freya clicked her tongue in irritation and rose to her feet.
"I'm going to town," she declared. "And I'm going alone."
Dearest's smirk faded.
"I'm sorry, but that's not possible," he replied smoothly. "I must come with you."
Freya exhaled sharply.
"How long do we even plan to stay here?" she asked, rubbing her temples.
Dearest met her gaze, his expression unreadable.
"Until this city is under your name."
Freya frowned.
"We already have cities. Entire countries bow to me. Isn't that enough?"
A slow smirk crept across Dearest's lips.
"Not until I have conquered the multiverse."
Then, without warning, he threw his head back and laughed—a sound that sent chills down the spines of demons and mortals alike.
Freya sighed.
Perhaps the world was not enough for the one she had raised.
The Queen's Visit
Freya let out a tired sigh, rubbing her temples as Dearest's laughter echoed through the hall. The other demons watched in silence, waiting for their queen's response. She had no patience for needless conquest, but she also knew Dearest. When he set his mind on something, nothing short of annihilation could stop him.
"Fine," she said, turning away. "Do whatever you want. Just don't destroy the entire world while I'm gone."
She stepped down from her throne, her long cloak trailing behind her. Havoc remained kneeling, waiting for her next command.
"I'm still going into town, and I mean it—I'm going alone."
Dearest's smirk returned, but this time, it held something unreadable.
"I understand," he said. "I won't follow you."
Freya eyed him suspiciously before pushing past him, stepping into the open air of the demon stronghold. The sun was beginning to rise, casting a strange glow over the darkened ruins surrounding them. She took a deep breath and leaped, vanishing in a blur of speed.
---
A City on Edge
The city of Eldorin was restless. News of Freya's presence had spread like wildfire, and the people whispered in hushed voices about the Mother of Demons. To some, she was a savior—untouchable, merciful only when she wished to be. To others, she was the end of all things, a force that could not be reasoned with.
The king sat upon his throne, his face pale as his generals spoke over one another in fear.
"She's here!" one of them hissed. "If we don't act now, she'll—"
"Silence."
The king's voice was steady, but the tremor in his fingers betrayed his fear. He had seen what happened to those who stood against Freya.
"We will not fight her. We will welcome her."
Gasps filled the room.
"Your Majesty, you can't mean—"
"I mean exactly what I said," the king interrupted. "Freya does not take what is freely given. If we acknowledge her authority, she may leave us in peace."
The generals hesitated. One of them, a younger man with a scar across his eye, stepped forward.
"And if she refuses our offering?"
The king exhaled slowly.
"Then may the gods have mercy on us."
---
A Queen Among Mortals
Freya walked through the city streets, her hood drawn low to hide her features. The air smelled of earth and fire, and the people—while trying to act normal—were too afraid to meet her gaze.
She wasn't here for war. She simply wanted to see how the humans lived, how they feared, how they loved. It was easy to forget that she had once been part of them.
A small child ran past her, laughing as he chased after a wooden toy. Freya paused, watching as the mother scolded him and pulled him close. The woman's hands trembled as she glanced in Freya's direction, fear evident in her eyes.
Freya sighed.
It was always the same.
Even when she did nothing, people feared her. Even when she came in peace, they whispered of war.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a familiar presence.
"You followed me."
She didn't have to turn around to know Dearest was there. His presence was overwhelming, a force of nature that even the strongest warriors could not ignore.
"I said I wouldn't follow," he said smoothly. "But I never said I wouldn't arrive first."
Freya turned to face him, arms crossed. "You can't leave me alone for five minutes, can you?"
Dearest smirked.
"Not when you are my entire world."
Freya rolled her eyes, but she couldn't stop the small smile from tugging at her lips.
Even in a world that feared her, she had her demons.
And they would follow her to the ends of existence.
The Weight of a Name
Freya exhaled, looking around at the quiet city. The moment Dearest arrived, the already tense atmosphere turned suffocating. People stiffened, merchants abandoned their stalls, and even the city guards—who had been subtly keeping an eye on her—took a step back.
"You always do this," she muttered.
Dearest tilted his head, his dark eyes watching her intently. "Do what?"
"Make it impossible for me to walk anywhere without people thinking I'm about to burn their city to the ground."
Dearest chuckled, but there was no humor in it.
"That is not my fault, my queen. It is their fear that distorts their perception. I have done nothing."
Freya turned her gaze toward the people watching them, their wide eyes filled with fear and awe. Maybe Dearest was right. He hadn't raised a hand, hadn't even spoken to them, yet his presence alone made the air feel heavier, like a storm waiting to explode.
And yet…
"What do you want from me?" a voice broke the silence.
Freya turned to see an older man—perhaps a noble, judging by his fine clothes—stepping forward, his hands clenched into fists. He was terrified, but he still forced himself to speak.
"Our king has ordered us to welcome you," he said. "But is that enough? What do you really want?"
Freya studied him for a moment, then smiled.
"Nothing."
Murmurs spread through the gathered people. The man flinched as if he hadn't expected such an answer.
"You—nothing?" he repeated, confused.
Freya took a step forward, her movements slow, deliberate. The people tensed.
"I have no need for gold, no hunger for your lands, and no desire to rule over humans." Her voice was calm but carried enough weight that everyone heard her. "You fear me because of my name. Because of what you have heard. Because of the demons that walk beside me."
She tilted her head toward Dearest, who watched in silence, his gaze unwavering.
"I don't blame you for fearing me. But I did not come here as an enemy."
The noble swallowed, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to reach for his sword.
"Then why are you here?"
Freya smiled.
"To remind you that the Mother of Demons is not just a name whispered in fear."
She turned, walking past the man as she continued down the street.
The people remained still, unsure whether they had just been given mercy… or a warning.
---
The Throne's Decision
Back in the palace, the king sat on his throne, tapping his fingers against the armrest. The news of Freya's words had already reached him, but instead of relief, a deep unease settled in his chest.
"She doesn't want our lands," one of his advisors said. "She doesn't want our gold."
"Then what does she want?" the king muttered.
The silence stretched. No one had an answer.
"She is leaving," another advisor spoke. "Perhaps it is best we do not question it. If we survive this encounter without war, is that not a blessing?"
The king frowned.
No, it wasn't a blessing. It was a test.
Freya never acted without reason. If she had come here, she had already decided something.
"Summon the archbishop," the king finally ordered. "And send a messenger to the capital. If we have been judged, I want to know the verdict before it is too late."
---
A Demon's Truth
Outside the city, Freya stood on a high cliff, watching the sun set over the city horizon
My name is Freya. A runaway princess.
My father, a war king. My mother, the goddess of the sea. My brother, a warrior feared across kingdoms. But I left all that behind. I did not want to live in their shadow.
I wanted to carve my own name into history.
And I did.
I am Freya, the Mother of Demons.
---
"Dearest."
"Yes, my queen."
Freya sighed, gazing at the city below. "After this city… can we just be normal?"
Dearest stood beside her, his face unreadable, his dark eyes locked onto hers. Silence stretched between them.
"I'm tired of being seen as a thing that brings fear and trembling," she admitted. "For years, Dearest, we have conquered worlds. I'm content with what we have."
Dearest's expression did not change, but his voice softened. "As you wish."
Freya narrowed her eyes. She knew him too well to trust those words. Dearest had been the last of her demons to join her… but he had become the first in everything else. The first to shield her. The first to listen. The first to act on her behalf—sometimes without her asking.
"Tomorrow at noon, we move to see their king," she announced, her voice carrying across the city square.
Murmurs spread among the gathered citizens, whispers of fear and uncertainty.
She turned to a trembling messenger nearby. "Tell your king to expect me by noon."
The messenger hesitated, then bowed deeply before running toward the palace.
As the sun set behind them, Freya turned back to Dearest. He was still watching her, still unreadable.
She knew he was already planning something.
And she knew—no matter what she said—he would do whatever it took to keep her throne from ever being challenged.
The Throne That Will Not Fall
Freya knew that no matter what she wished for—peace, normalcy, a life without war—Dearest would never allow her throne to be challenged.
The next morning, she stood at the balcony of her chamber, gazing at the city below. The humans moved cautiously, their whispers reaching her ears. They feared her, but they also respected her.
Dearest stood beside her, arms crossed, his presence suffocating.
"They're afraid," she murmured.
"They should be." His voice was calm but absolute.
Freya sighed. "That is not what I want."
Dearest turned to her, his golden eyes narrowing. "Do you regret it?"
She didn't answer immediately.
Did she regret becoming the Mother of Demons? Did she regret saving them, raising them, fighting alongside them?
No.
"I regret that I cannot have both."
"Both?"
"Fear and love. Power and peace."
Dearest was silent for a moment. Then, he spoke, his tone unwavering.
"Fear and love are not so different, Freya. The only difference is who holds the leash."
---
An Invitation of Power
Noon arrived, and with it, the summons from the king.
Freya arrived at the palace gates, dressed in flowing black robes, her crown of thorns resting lightly on her head. She walked alone, but the air around her crackled with unseen power.
The guards at the gate trembled, but they let her through without question.
The king awaited her in his grand hall, his expression tense. His court was filled with nobles and warriors—each one measuring her, assessing her.
She smiled. They are testing me.
She took a step forward.
Dearest stepped out of the void behind her, his presence dark and terrifying. The nobles stiffened. Some flinched. The king's hand trembled against his throne.
She tilted her head. "You summoned me."
The king swallowed hard. "We wish for peace, Lady Freya."
Freya smirked. "Peace?" She glanced at Dearest. "What do you think?"
Dearest's gaze flickered across the room. "They are afraid."
"As they should be."
Freya sighed and turned back to the king. "You don't want peace. You want survival."
Silence.
The king clenched his fists. "What is it that you want, then?"
Freya smiled.
"I want my name to be remembered."
She turned, already walking away.
"This city now belongs to me."
---
The City That Bowed
The king did not fight.
By nightfall, the banners of the city changed. The people whispered her name with reverence. The palace doors opened freely for her demons. The guards bowed their heads in silent surrender.
And Freya…
Freya sat on her throne, watching the stars, knowing that even though she longed for peace, the universe would never let her rest.
Because as long as Dearest stood beside her…
She would never be just a queen.
She would always be the Mother of Demons.
And no one would dare take her throne.
A New Beginning
"Dearest, I'm leaving as soon as dawn breaks."
Freya's voice was firm, unwavering.
Early the next morning, both demons and humans gathered to bid farewell. As she stepped out, the city bowed in silence, their gazes filled with reverence and fear.
Dearest walked beside her, his expression unreadable.
"We are leaving this dimension," she declared, her voice cold but resolute. "To a world where I am unknown. A place where I will not be seen as a symbol of fear."
Dearest said nothing.
They traveled far, beyond the reach of civilization, until they arrived at a barren wasteland—a place untouched by life.
Freya stopped and turned. "Come out."
In an instant, the void trembled, and Dash, Boss, Havoc, and Dearest emerged, kneeling before her.
She gazed at them, her expression unreadable. "From now on, we are not rulers, not warriors, not symbols of destruction. Over there… I am just Freya."
Her lips curled into a small smile.
"Let's just live as a family."
A World Unknown
Freya closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The air here was different—lighter, untouched by war, untainted by fear. She felt it against her skin, a reminder that this world knew nothing of her name.
For the first time in centuries, she wasn't a queen, a ruler, or a force that demanded reverence. She was just Freya.
Dash tilted his head, his nine tails swaying behind him. "This place is… strange. There's no scent of blood, no cries of battle."
Boss let out a low growl, his massive black form shifting. "It's too quiet."
Havoc folded her arms, her golden eyes narrowing. "You expect us to pretend we're ordinary?"
Dearest, who had remained silent, finally spoke. His deep voice was unwavering, as always. "If that is her wish, we will abide."
Freya turned to them, her gaze soft but firm. "That's right. No battles, no destruction. We will blend in."
Dash scoffed. "And if someone tries to harm you?"
Freya smirked. "Then, I will handle it."
Dearest's gaze darkened. He stepped closer, towering over her. "I will not allow that."
Freya sighed. "Dearest—"
"No." His voice was final. "If you bleed, I will burn this world to ash."
Freya placed a hand on his chest. "Then make sure I don't."
Dearest exhaled, his muscles relaxing slightly. He wouldn't argue with her, but she knew—no matter what she said—he would never stop watching.
They moved forward, stepping into the unknown. A new world awaited them.
the unknown. A new world awaited them.
A world that had no idea the demons of the dawn had arrived.
A World Too Perfect
Days passed, then weeks. The world Freya had chosen was unlike any she had ever seen. It was… peaceful. Too peaceful.
No wars, no battles, not even an argument in the streets. People smiled as they passed each other. Children played without fear. There were no criminals, no rulers drunk on power, no whispers of rebellion or chaos. It was as if the world itself had been molded into an illusion of harmony.
And that was what unsettled her the most.
Freya sat on a balcony, staring at the city below. She had taken up residence in a quiet town, disguising herself as nothing more than a traveler. Dash lay curled at her feet, tail flicking. Havoc sat nearby, watching the humans interact. Boss lay in the shadows, blending in effortlessly, while Dearest stood at her side, silent as ever.
"This world is unnatural," Havoc muttered.
Freya nodded. "I know."
Dearest's golden eyes never left the horizon. "Something is watching us."
Freya turned to him. "You feel it too?"
Dearest clenched his fists. "It noticed us the moment we arrived. But now, it's… curious."
Dash let out a low growl. "Curious?"
Boss's voice rumbled from the shadows. "A god, perhaps?"
Freya's eyes narrowed. A god? No, this was different. Gods thrived on worship, but this world had no temples, no shrines, no prayers. The people here didn't fear an all-powerful being. They didn't even seem to realize they were being watched.
That meant one thing—whoever controlled this world wasn't looking for faith.
He was looking for control.
And now, he had noticed her.
Freya stood, her gaze hardening. "If this world is peaceful because of him… then he will not take kindly to us."
Dearest smirked. "Let him try."
But Freya wasn't smiling.
Because deep in her gut, she knew—whoever ruled this place wasn't just watching.
He was waiting.
The Watcher in the Shadows
The days stretched on, and Freya's unease only grew.
The longer she stayed in this world, the more she felt it—the weight of an unseen presence, always lingering at the edge of her awareness. It didn't attack, didn't reveal itself. It simply watched.
And Freya hated being watched.
She walked through the town's market, observing the people. They smiled, laughed, traded goods, completely unaware that their lives weren't their own.
Too perfect.
Havoc strolled beside her, blending in easily with her human disguise. Dash darted ahead, snatching an apple from a cart. The vendor chuckled and waved him off, as if stealing didn't matter. Boss stood guard in the distance, blending into the shadows of an alleyway. Dearest… Dearest never left her side.
"Do you notice it?" she asked him, voice barely above a whisper.
Dearest didn't react immediately. Then, his lips curled into a smirk. "It's not just watching anymore. It's listening."
Freya stopped walking. Her blood ran cold.
Listening?
She turned her head slightly, eyes scanning the buildings, the streets, the very air around her. Nothing. No figures lurking in the distance. No demons hiding in the dark. No gods descending from the heavens.
But something was there.
"How strong is it?" she asked.
Dearest tilted his head. "Strong enough that I don't want you to fight it alone."
For Dearest to admit that…
Freya exhaled slowly. "Then it's time we introduce ourselves."
Havoc grinned, her demonic nature flickering in her gaze. "Finally."
Dash stretched, his tails swaying lazily. "About time we break something."
Boss cracked his knuckles, stepping from the shadows. "Your orders, my Queen?"
Freya smiled. A slow, cold, dangerous smile.
"Make enough noise to get its attention."
Her demons vanished in an instant.
The quiet, peaceful world was about to learn the cost of perfection.
And the Watcher?
He would have to reveal himself.
The Watcher Reveals Himself
The air tensed, crackling with unseen energy. Freya stood still, waiting, listening. Her demons had vanished into the streets, their presence masked as they carried out her command.
Then, the first crack shattered the silence.
A nearby building trembled, its foundations groaning under an unseen force. Screams erupted as the marketplace descended into chaos—fruit stands overturned, carts splintered into pieces, and terrified civilians ran in every direction.
Dash was the first to strike. A blur of shadows and speed, he weaved through the city, leaving destruction in his wake. Boss tore through the cobblestone streets, his mere presence sending shockwaves that rattled windows and crumbled walls. Havoc's power seeped into the air, an invisible force that made the sky itself darken.
And then there was Dearest.
He didn't move. He didn't need to.
He simply stood by Freya, arms crossed, golden eyes watching with quiet anticipation. Because he knew—whatever was watching them would show itself soon.
And it did.
The air thickened.
A low, otherworldly hum resonated through the city, silencing the screams. The fleeing civilians froze mid-step, their eyes glazing over, bodies locked in place as if time itself had stopped.
Freya's eyes narrowed. So, it finally makes a move.
A slow clap echoed through the unnatural stillness.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
From the rooftops, a figure emerged—a man, or something wearing the shape of one. He was draped in flowing black robes, his skin pale like the moon, and his eyes… his eyes were empty.
Freya met his gaze and felt the weight of eternity staring back at her.
"You're not supposed to be here," he said, his voice carrying an unnatural calm. "This world is not for creatures like you."
Freya smirked, unfazed. "Oh? And who decided that?"
The man tilted his head. "I did."
The weight of his words sent a ripple through reality. The sky darkened further, the very air warping around him.
Dearest took a step forward, his presence flaring with raw, uncontained power. The moment he moved, the figure's gaze flickered to him, and for the first time, there was something close to recognition.
Freya caught the shift.
He knows Dearest.
Interesting.
"Who are you?" she asked.
The figure's lips curled into the faintest of smiles.
"I am the Architect."
Freya's smirk deepened. "And what exactly have you built?"
The Architect gestured to the frozen city. "A world without war. Without suffering. Without… demons." His gaze darkened. "And I won't let you ruin it."
A silent command pulsed through the air.
The stillness shattered.
From the shadows, beings emerged—figures with hollow eyes, wrapped in divine energy, moving like puppets without strings. They surrounded Freya and her demons, their hands crackling with unnatural power.
A challenge.
Freya rolled her shoulders, her grin widening.
"You won't let me?" she echoed, amusement lacing her tone.
Havoc stepped forward, power surging. Dash flicked his tails, anticipation gleaming in his eyes. Boss clenched his fists, ready to break whatever stood in their way.
Dearest?
Dearest simply whispered, his voice a promise of devastation.
"Shall I kill him for you, my Queen?"
Freya laughed, eyes glowing with the thrill of battle.
"Not yet," she said. "Let's have some fun first."
The Architect sighed, as if already mourning their foolishness.
Then, the battle began.
The Battle That Shatters Worlds
The air exploded.
One moment, the Architect stood still, his expression unreadable. The next—the entire city erupted into chaos.
His hollow-eyed puppets lunged forward, their forms blurring with divine energy. They moved like whispers in the wind—silent, deadly, inevitable.
But Freya's demons were faster.
Dash disappeared. A heartbeat later, one of the Architect's warriors was ripped apart mid-motion, his body torn into nothingness before he could even react.
Boom.
A shockwave followed as Boss slammed his fist into the ground, sending tremors rolling through the city. Buildings collapsed. The earth split like cracked glass. The Architect's forces stumbled, their perfect coordination faltering for the first time.
Havoc lifted her hand, and reality itself twisted. The air turned into a swirling vortex of destruction, consuming everything it touched. The puppets tried to move, but their bodies began to unravel—pulled apart at the molecular level.
And yet—the Architect stood untouched.
His eyes gleamed with something ancient, something beyond time itself.
"You creatures never learn," he muttered. Then, he lifted a single finger.
The world stopped.
Freya's breath caught. For the briefest moment, she felt something she hadn't in a long time—a force trying to rewrite her very existence.
"Fascinating," she mused. Then she snapped her fingers.
Reality screamed.
The Architect's influence shattered like broken glass, the pressure lifting as suddenly as it had come.
Freya smirked. "You'll have to try harder than that."
And then—Dearest moved.
For the first time in the battle, he stepped forward. The ground beneath him melted, unable to withstand the weight of his presence. His golden eyes burned like twin suns, radiating an aura so intense that even Freya's other demons instinctively backed away.
The Architect blinked, and for the first time, his composure cracked.
"You… are different," he said, almost to himself.
Dearest smiled. It was not a kind smile.
And then—he attacked.
The sky shattered as Dearest's fist met the Architect's palm. The impact didn't just shake the city—it obliterated it. The entire dimension rippled, as if struggling to contain the sheer force of their clash.
Boom.
The ground caved in. The very laws of existence trembled under the weight of their power.
Freya watched, arms crossed, as the battle unfolded before her. The Architect was strong—far stronger than she'd expected—but Dearest?
Dearest was unstoppable.
Each of his blows sent shockwaves that could have erased planets. Every time the Architect blocked, he was forced back, the cracks in his carefully controlled world growing larger.
"You can't win," the Architect said, voice strained.
Dearest tilted his head. "Oh? And why is that?"
The Architect's hollow eyes gleamed. "Because I am this world."
And then—the world itself attacked.
The sky tore open, swallowing everything in an endless void. The earth beneath them erupted, tendrils of raw creation and destruction lashing out at Dearest.
The Architect was no longer just fighting.
He was becoming the battlefield.
Freya watched, still calm, still composed. She knew Dearest wouldn't fall. He never did. But she also knew that this world was not his to destroy.
So, she stepped forward.
"That's enough," she said.
The battle stopped.
The moment her voice rang out, all forces halted. The Architect froze mid-motion. The sky, the earth, the very fabric of the dimension itself obeyed her command.
Freya exhaled. "I didn't come here to fight a dying god," she said coolly. "I came to live in peace."
The Architect stared at her, realization dawning in his hollow gaze.
"You're…" he trailed off.
Freya smirked. "Different? I get that a lot."
Dearest let out a low chuckle, stepping back, his aura settling like a storm that had just passed.
The Architect gritted his teeth, his once-absolute power wavering in her presence. His perfect world was crumbling, and he knew it.
"You could rule this place," he murmured.
Freya tilted her head. "I could," she admitted. "But I don't want to."
The Architect's gaze darkened. "Then why are you here?"
Freya's eyes softened—just a little. "Because I was tired of being a queen," she said.
For a moment, silence.
Then, the Architect laughed—a dry, hollow sound.
"You truly are an anomaly," he muttered. "Very well, Mother of Demons. If you seek peace, I will not stop you."
Freya smiled. "Good choice."
The battle was over.
But the game?
The game was just beginning.