His gaze, desperate and searching, swept across the shattered platform, past the forms of fallen allies and towering foes alike. It finally found her—Vina—still perched on the distant pedestal. Even from this vantage point of defeat, her presence was unmistakable. She merely stared back, her face devoid of emotion, her cold, unwavering gaze locking onto his. It was a stark contrast to the warmth they once shared. Memories flooded back to him—times he had been wounded, moments when she rushed to his side, kissed his injuries, and tended to his pain with gentle hands and soothing words. Her care had been a balm, a promise of solace. But now, there was only that chilling stare, reflecting the painful reality of her betrayal.
Suddenly, a figure loomed over him, casting a dark shadow. It was Kaelen, lashing out with brutal contempt. A vicious kick connected with Uragast's already broken ribs. Instinctively, he raised a hand, a weak attempt at a shield; yet his movements were sluggish, his divine energy sputtering. It wasn't enough. The impact jolted through him, intensifying his existing wounds—the searing rent in his shoulder, the void in his side—each felt as though it was worsening under an enchantment from the enemy gods. Kaelen didn't stop, unleashing a torrent of merciless kicks and punches against Uragast's heavy, unresponsive form. He felt pinned to the platform, unable to muster the strength to even writhe away.
Suspended in Kaelen's relentless grip, floating amidst the chaos, Uragast was forced to gaze outward. From this agonizing vantage point, he witnessed the devastating aftermath of his failed rebellion sprawled across the cracked surface below.
"My expulsion from the Council was meant to give you time to reflect—to choose to ally with me or continue as my enemy."
Struggling against the crushing grip, a strained whisper escaped him, punctuated by ragged breaths. "W-when the Creator learns... of all your plans... I will be the first to celebrate... with immense joy. I can already envision... your fate..."
Kaelen chuckled, a low, cold sound vibrating through Uragast. His grip tightened. "But what if I simply kill you here and now? I'll erase every trace. Do you really think that useless Creator will find out?" He dismissed Uragast's faith in their creator's awareness.
Struggling to resist, Uragast forced more words out, an indignant rasp: "Perhaps you forget... that the Creator is the most powerful of all... He created everything... including us gods... Do you think he's foolish?"
For a fleeting moment, a hint of fear flickered on Kaelen's face, his smile vanishing. Uragast's words stung. Frustrated, Kaelen hurled Uragast down onto the unyielding platform. A sickening snap echoed through the air as one of Uragast's wings twisted beneath him upon impact. Kaelen didn't hesitate, repeatedly kicking him. Each blow sent jolts of agony through Uragast, a fire spreading from his broken wing across his back and ribs. The air was driven from his lungs with brutal force. Yet even amidst the relentless pain, something unexpected bubbled up within him—a laugh, a ragged, gasping sound born more from suffering than joy.
At that moment, however, hope surged elsewhere. Elara, the Shield of Resilience, charged forward, positioning herself defiantly between the furious Kaelen and the fallen Uragast. She raised her radiant shield, channeling her resilience to intercept Kaelen's attention and force him to shift focus from his defeated foe. This desperate defiance bought precious seconds.
While Elara struggled against Kaelen, Faelan, Master of Elements, poured his energy into the air near Uragast, forming a shimmering tear in reality—a portal meant for escape. Simultaneously, Lyra, Singer of Souls, began to hum a strained melody, channeling restorative power toward Uragast, desperate to mend his critical wounds.
But the victorious Council members were not idle. Sensing the allies' coordinated efforts, they surged forward as one. Their combined might bore down on this fleeting chance for escape.
Seeing the overwhelming charge, Rhys, Master of Veils, moved with frantic urgency. He threw out his hands, weaving a complex pattern of shimmering energy—a veil of illusion intended to momentarily delay the charging gods. For an instant, the veil shimmered, distorting their forms... but only briefly. Their united power effortlessly tore through the fragile illusion. The Council pressed on, breaking through Rhys's shattering veil and pushing toward the opening portal.
Amidst pain and confusion from Kaelen's initial blows, Uragast beheld the chaotic tableau: Elara clashed with Kaelen, Faelan struggled to maintain the portal, Lyra weaved her song, and Rhys's veil disintegrated before the Council's relentless advance—a desperate race against time unfolding before him.
But then, across the platform, Vina narrowed her eyes. Observing her allies' coordinated effort, witnessing the portal begin to open and the brief opportunity Elara created, her hand instinctively reached for her bow—the very gift Uragast had crafted for her. From a nearby pillar, Warden of Doubt extended a hand, offering a single, dark arrow—a memory arrow. With cold resolve, Vina accepted it, infusing it quickly with her curse energy. As she drew the cursed arrow, her gaze met Uragast's across the chaos. He saw her cold determination, the dark energy coiling around his cherished gift, the unmistakable aim directed at him, solidifying the ultimate betrayal in that horrific moment.
Watching this horrific act unfold, Uragast's frustration boiled over into a roar, directed at the memory, the sky, and everything. "Vinaaa!" he bellowed. "You ungrateful wretch! I loved you with all my heart! I gave you everything—my effort, my time—but this is how you repay me?! I won't forgive you even in death!" His voice cracked, raw with pain, betrayal, and fury.
"Let me end your worthless life."
With that final, cutting statement, she released the arrow. It flew swiftly, a dark streak slicing through the dimension towards Uragast and the burgeoning portal. In that brief instant, horror unfolded around him. The shimmering tear Faelan desperately maintained began to waver and shrink—the portal closing. Even worse, Uragast's gaze followed the arrow's path, catching glimpses of his allies being overwhelmed, forms dissolving beneath the Council's relentless assault. He watched them fall, being killed despite their bravery. The sight shattered the remnants of his defiance, leaving him hollow just before impact.
As the Council gods closed in, and with the portal aperture snapping shut behind him, Uragast let instinct guide him. Propelled by his painful maneuver—or perhaps drawn by Faelan's failing gateway—he lunged or fell into the shimmering tear. The dark memory arrow, seemingly attached to his very essence, slipped through just behind him as the portal snapped shut in the faces of the charging Council.
He did not arrive instantly in a stable dimension. Instead, passing through Faelan's portal was a wrenching ordeal, accompanied by an immense, crushing force. He fell fast—not into the void beyond known realms but through the very sky of the Middle Realm. The air screamed past him, the familiar yet alien landscape of the monster realm rushing upwards. Below, the ground collided with him, and his broken form created a vast crater that sent shockwaves echoing across the land.
Lying in the center of the crater, gasping for breath, he felt the wind knocked out of him, the agony of the fall tremendous. Then came the final impact. The dark, cursed memory arrow, having trailed him through the portal and the fall, struck true, piercing his chest as he landed.
A quick, breathless gasp escaped Uragast—a strangled sound of pure agony. His broken body arched rigidly as if struck by lightning. A chilling numbness spread from the entry point, stealing away the pain of impact and replacing it with a cold, invasive corruption taking root. Dark veins began to snake across his skin from the wound, black tendrils stretching outward. At the center, where the dark memory arrow embedded itself, a thick, black smoke began to ooze, pulsing with malevolent energy.
Wracked by the invasive energy and struggling to move, Uragast bit down hard on his lip, tasting blood. With a desperate surge of will, he managed to raise himself slightly. He reached for his remaining wing—the one unshattered by the earlier fall. These wings had been a treasured gift from his late grandfather, bestowed upon him during his childhood—not just for flight, but containing a well of divine energy, a lingering power from his grandfather himself.
With grim determination, Uragast savagely tore free his remaining wing from his back, ignoring the searing pain. He crushed the severed appendage in his hand, forcing its divine energy to surface. Gathering glowing power, he smeared it onto the shaft and blade of the dark memory arrow embedded in his chest, hoping to suppress the deadly curse and buy himself time to think of a way to exorcise the malignancy before it took hold completely.
Far below, nestled within the bustling, magically shielded layers of a great city, a powerful citizen paused. Elder Valerius, renowned for his acute sensitivity to the world's subtler currents, was tending to his alchemical garden when the air shimmered. This was no mere local disturbance; it rippled from somewhere vast and high above. Looking up, he strained to see through the city's dome. A strange mix of dark, noxious energy and blindingly pure light flared in the upper atmosphere, pricking his ancient senses. More than mere visuals or energetic anomalies, Valerius felt an undeniable force—a weight in the cosmic fabric that felt unfamiliar yet potent. Eyes wide with awe and dread, he realized it was the unmistakable presence of a pure-blooded god—a sheer intensity he hadn't encountered in millennia. Something monumental had just occurred.
A knot of primal fear tightened in Elder Valerius's gut, a natural response to sensing power far beyond his own. Yet coiling alongside that fear was curiosity. Millennia had passed since such a signature graced their realm. What could have summoned it now? With resolute determination, he decided he must go to the source—not directly into the heart of whatever devastation had unfolded, not yet—but cautiously approach the area thrumming with that terrifying, magnificent power. He turned from his garden, hurrying to prepare for his journey.
Meanwhile, even through blinding agony and the invasive corruption spreading from the dark memory arrow, Uragast sensed presences drawing nearer. His heightened senses, though ravaged, picked up distinct power signatures closing in. Some belonged to monstrous beings of the Middle Realm, driven by base instincts or something more. He could almost hear their brutish minds calculating, sensing the disturbance, the raw energy flares. They would likely come seeking reward if they reached his location. A grimace tightened his jaw. Just what he needed—unwelcome, dangerous attention. Time was running short, not just because of the curse but also from new threats closing in.
Gathering his scattered will, Uragast forced a modicum of remaining divine power, drawing from hidden reserves. It was a painful sensation in his cursed state, but necessary. He needed to move—now. Using this burst of energy for a quick, agonizing flight, he launched himself upwards, leaving the site of his fall behind.
Minutes later, the first of the approaching intruders arrived—a hulking, multi-limbed beast sniffing the ground, followed by others. They discovered only the massive crater left by Uragast's fall, surrounding crumbling terrain still resonating with faint, confusing energy signatures. The pure, powerful presence they had felt was gone.
Uragast was already far away, a mere flicker against the horizon for senses sharper than theirs, desperately making his way toward the secret tear at the edge of the realm—his only hope of escaping the Middle Realm entirely.
This tear wasn't commonly known. Centuries ago, he had discovered it during one of his many expansive journeys. His passion for exploration had led him to the very fringes of the Middle Realm, pushing past known boundaries. Nestled among swirling cosmic debris and forgotten energy currents, he had found it—a barely perceptible secret tear, a fragile breach in the fabric separating this realm from... somewhere else. He never imagined he would need it, but the instinct of a seasoned explorer compelled him to mark its location—a hidden exit route saved for a day he hoped would never arrive. Back then, his mind had been filled with dreams of shared futures with Vina, not thoughts of desperate escapes. Now, cursed and broken, that forgotten discovery—unshared with the one he loved—was his only destination.
The space outside the realm's edge was not empty void; it constituted a churning, chaotic maelstrom. Here, the carefully ordered realities of realms broke down. Raw, unfiltered cosmic energies flared and dissipated without rhythm, creating sudden, violent storms of power capable of tearing lesser beings apart molecule by molecule. Spatial distortions twisted reality, pockets collapsing in on themselves or shearing away entirely, making navigation treacherous. Swirling fields of forgotten debris drifted like razor-sharp celestial shrapnel. There were no stable laws of physics—only constant, dangerous instability. It was a precarious wilderness of the cosmos, offering no safety or structure; a desperate refuge known only to the most daring explorers or those with nowhere else to turn.
Driven by desperation and the corrosive pain of the curse, Uragast reached the place where the air shimmered with contained power. His agonizing flight drained him to his core. Every inch of his body screamed, deep aches reverberating beneath the searing corruption. He landed heavily on a small, precarious outcropping of cosmic debris, nearly crumpling as his trembling limbs struggled to keep him upright. Cold, clammy sweat slicked his back and pooled at his temples.
With a groan borne of agony and grim resolve, he reached into his personal storage—a spatial fold accessible only to his will—and pulled forth Aethel-Threnos, the world once known as Aethel-Caris, crafted from memories of Vina. The weight felt monstrous now, agonizingly difficult to hold. Once, he remembered cradling its nascent cosmic heft with ease, as if it were a precious gem. Now, the dark memory arrow embedded in his chest sapped his divine energy, threatening to slip from his grasp.
Gasping, eyes half-lidded with pain, he scanned the intricate patterns etched into this space's fabric. Recognizing the formation instantly, he recalled erecting it long ago—a complex divine structure built precisely to contain the secret tear, sealing away the chaotic energies leaking from the dangerous void beyond. The formation was more than a seal; it was a vault designed to withstand immense cosmic pressure from within and without. He could still sense his own pure divine energy lingering within its intricate web—a stark reminder of a power strong enough to create this containment.
He wasn't here to break it; he was here to enter it for a different purpose.
Ignoring the crippling pain, he focused on the entrance of the formation, a seam in the divine energy visible only to him. Uragast forced his trembling body forward, stepping into the formation, into the heart of his own ancient power. Inside the protected space, his priority was safeguarding the world clutched precariously in his hand. It had to remain hidden, untouched by the forces pursuing him. From another compartment within his storage, he retrieved a small, intricate object—a concealment gifted long ago by Rhys. Focusing his will, he activated the enchantment, pouring the last of his concentrated divine energy into it. A shimmering veil, akin to heat radiating from a desert road, enveloped Aethel-Threnos as he placed it carefully within the core of the formation. The concealment settled around it, rendering the world invisible and undetectable by all but the most fundamental cosmic senses. Secure within a vault of his prime-era power, it was hidden from view.
With his remaining reserves of focused will, Uragast prepared for the final step. Utilizing the formation as a gateway, he sought to enter Aethel-Threnos itself. Exhausted from the combined efforts of the escape, wing sacrifice, curse suppression, and the struggle with both Aethel-Threnos and the formation, he staggered through the threshold. His body gave out, falling like a flaming meteor—one whose descent he had no power left to control.
Now safely in his own world, away from immediate external threats, a sense of arrival allowed tension to bleed from his muscles. For a fraction of a second, he relaxed his body. But that brief respite was swiftly replaced by waves of intense weakness and unbearable pain. The dark memory arrow pierced deeper, its malevolent energy flooding unchecked into his core as the barrier provided by the wing energy waned completely.
Urghast landed not on solid ground but on the sea of Aethel-Threnos, his impact marked by a bright flash and sound rippling across the water's surface. His battered body floated, settling into a semi-sitting position amid the waters. Agony seized him, but a new kind of grim determination ignited within him. He had to remove the arrow. Enduring the searing pain, he raised a trembling hand to his chest, gripped the shaft of the arrow, and with a guttural cry, ripped it out. It came free with a sickening wrench. Once detached from its active curse energy, the dark memory arrow became inert and harmless—a mere relic of malice. With vacant eyes, Uragast mindlessly discarded the arrow, sending it splashing into the sea some distance away. The curse, however, remained woven into his very being—its malicious influence fully absorbed.
As Uragast floated listlessly, a massive shape stirred beneath the waves. An ancient creature from the sea, drawn by the flash and sound of his landing, approached the surface, its ancient eyes fixing upon the figure afloat in the water. Yet as it drew nearer, it halted—a colossal form pausing just below the surface. From Uragast's body, where the dark memory had taken root, a thick, ink-like substance began to spread across the water's surface around him, staining the crystal-clear sea. The very wrongness of it—the palpable aura of corruption emanating from the god-like figure—struck primal fear into the beast. Without hesitation, it quickly turned and dived into the darkest depths of the ocean.
Above, the fabric of Aethel-Threnos reacted. The world, once a paradise, felt a seismic shift in its connection to its creator. Vitality began to wane, vibrant hues subtly dimming. The sky, moments before a glorious expanse, dulled into a perpetual twilight. Across every continent, embedded in forests, mountains, and ruins, monsters ceased their activities—hunting, resting, fighting. They paused, heads tilted, sensing the profound change tethered to their existence. For fleeting moments, they looked toward Uragast's direction—a silent acknowledgment of the shift in their foundational energy source. Then, just as abruptly, they resumed their actions, the eerie interlude passing like a forgotten dream.
Alone in the vast sea of his dimming world, the weight of everything crashed down upon Uragast. His mind swirled as emotions collided: betrayal by Vina, the cold victory of the Council, his failure to thwart Lady Lux's schemes, the agony of allies who died because of him during the failed rebellion, the corrupting reality of this curse consuming him, and the relentless pain ravaging his body. Overwhelmed, unable to bear the physical and mental burden, he instinctively curled inward, limbs drawing tight against him, becoming a defenseless, fetal shape adrift in his darkening, pain-filled world.
Time wore on—long stretches, maybe eons or mere centuries—becoming a meaningless concept in the cursed stasis of his existence. Aethel-Threnos, the world he had poured his heart into, twisted into a reflection of his suffering. Its monsters grew more ferocious, grotesque forms mirroring the corruption eating at their creator.
Uragast remained unmoving, a solitary broken figure adrift. The sea, once crystal clear and reflecting a boundless sky, darkened into a flat, pitch-black expanse; its waters had ceased to flow since his fateful landing. His physical wounds had mostly healed, scarred over by a divine resilience he barely commanded. But the curse remained intertwined with his being, a persistent, insidious fire. His divine power dwindled to a mere ember, engaged in a ceaseless conflict to prevent the corruption from consuming his heart and thoughts. Were he whole, that power would restore his body automatically. But now, it busied itself protecting those vital parts, an agonizing stalemate degrading with each passing day.
Uragast had long accepted defeat and weakness. The grand designs of the Upper Realm? Whatever transpired, whatever plans unfurled, he no longer cared. Close to death, he lay in that same position, a monument to failure, patiently waiting for his end. Yet amid this resignation lingered a morbid desire: before he perished, he wanted to witness the plight of mortals. He wished to behold the extent of the Council's destruction in the Lower Realm. In this self-punishment, he forced his soul to witness the devastation he had failed to forestall and the suffering of fleeting lives he aimed to protect.
Summoning a final, agonizing act of will, Uragast expelled a small measure of his remaining divine energy. It was sufficient. With a faint shimmer above his body, his soul manifested—an incorporeal echo of his former self. He would traverse the Lower Realm now, a ghostly observer. He cast a remorseful glance back at his physical form lying motionless in the dark sea before his spirit exited Aethel-Threnos, slipping through the unseen membrane into the wider cosmos.
Traveling via his soul was swift—a blink through existence. Upon entering Earth's atmosphere, the reality of the Council's victory struck him with brutal clarity. Monsters from the Middle Realm had unleashed chaos upon the earth; the human population had plummeted, reduced to scattered, desperate enclaves. Hideous, active portal gates dotted the continents—gaping wounds from which horror continued to pour.
With weary perception, Uragast scanned the devastation, desperate to assess the breadth of the Council's cruelty, the evidence of his failure. Amidst the ruin, his incorporeal gaze anchored on a single point—a figure advancing with purpose through the wreckage, a human resilient in defiance of despair. Unexpected intrigue ignited within his ancient soul—not just grim satisfaction at self-inflicted punishment, but a spark of curiosity. This mortal was not merely a victim; there existed a resonance about him, a faint, pure energy cutting through the surrounding turmoil in ways nothing else had. Behind all this chaos, he saw Dan. In that moment, the dying god's attention—cast wide in distress—narrowed solely upon this single human amidst ruin. Perhaps, against all odds, the long wait held an unexpected deviation.