The Shattered World
The Mortal Realm bled.
Five years had passed since the Radiant Empire burned beneath Aezreal's scythe intent. In that time, kingdoms fell like wheat before a storm. What was once a tapestry of empires, sects, clans, and faiths had become a blackened mosaic stitched together by one man's hunger.
Tales spread faster than fire in drought-stricken fields. Some whispered him as a liberator, a punisher of corrupt kings. Most called him the Scythe Demon or the Bone Tyrant. Mothers used his name to silence crying children. Priests spat curses to deaf heavens.
But none of it mattered.
Because everywhere the stories went, the same truth followed:
Aezreal was coming.
And nothing could stop him.
The Fall of Dawnlight
The Dawnlight Kingdom once claimed to be the "Shield of Humanity," guardians of the east. Their temple of the rising sun towered above golden fields, priests chanting to the dawn as if the light itself answered them.
When Aezreal arrived, there was no dawn. Nyx's wings blotted the horizon, casting the entire capital into an eclipse.
> POV: Captain Daro, Dawnlight Soldier
"I held my spear like it was worth something. The priests said the light would protect us. But the light never came. All I saw was shadow. And when the shadow moved, men died."
The clash was no battle. It was a massacre.
Nyx dove, her claws bigger than siege towers, ripping squads apart like parchment. Aezreal walked through burning streets with scythe in one hand, blade of slaughter in the other. Each swing carved arcs of red that melted armor and bone alike.
The temple bells tolled. Priests screamed hymns of protection. The sun god's statue gleamed once—only to be split in half, collapsing into rubble as Aezreal's scythe carved through divine stone like rotten wood.
> POV: High Priestess Elana
"I saw him cut our god's face in half. I prayed until my throat bled. The heavens answered with silence. And then he answered with slaughter."
The royal family was dragged from their palace to the temple steps. The king pleaded. The queen wept. The princess bit her lip, trying to stay strong.
Aezreal's voice was cold.
"You prayed to the sun. Now pray to me."
He executed them in front of the kneeling city, their blood dripping across the broken temple floor.
By morning, Dawnlight no longer existed.
The Black Sand Empire
The desert kingdom thought themselves untouchable. Their generals mocked Aezreal, claiming the dunes and sandstorms would swallow him. They summoned colossal sand beasts, towering creatures made of shifting grit and malice.
For a moment, it looked like the desert itself rose against him.
But Aezreal only smiled.
His scythe intent stretched into storms, slicing dunes into crimson tides. Sand beasts collapsed as if carved from glass, dissolving into rivers of blood.
> POV: General Qahran, Black Sand Warlord
"The storm was ours. The desert was ours. But when his scythe carved the dunes, I realized the desert was his too. We summoned the beasts of legend. He drank their blood like wine."
Oases boiled into pits of steaming gore as Nyx bathed the desert with her dragonfire. The capital fell within three days, its palace turned into a grave mound.
The Northern Clans
The tundra tribes tried surrender. They bent the knee, offered their strongest warriors as tribute. They thought submission meant survival.
Aezreal accepted their gifts—and then slaughtered them anyway.
> POV: Korr, Chieftain's Son
"My father bent the knee. He thought honor meant something to the Scythe Demon. He was wrong. I watched his head roll into the snow. The blood steam rose, and the crows feasted. That was his honor."
Frozen plains became forests of pikes, each carrying severed heads of chiefs and warriors. Children were left alive, forced to watch their tribes burn.
The Nine-Serpent Sect
The sect cloaked valleys in poison mists. Corpses swelled and melted within minutes. Rivers turned green.
But Aezreal walked through their miasma untouched, inhaling as if breathing spring air.
"You thought poison could kill me? I am poison."
Nyx spread her wings, and her dragonfire burned the mists away, scorching disciples until nothing remained but black bones.
> POV: Disciple Iya
"We thought the venom was our shield. We thought he would rot like the others. But he breathed it in, and smiled. My master fell first, then the rest. When the fire came, I wished I had died before it."
The Heavenly Lotus Sect
Their saintess stood at the lotus pond, hands trembling but eyes defiant. She prayed to the Lotus Goddess, begged for salvation, offered herself as sacrifice.
For a moment, Aezreal listened. His scythe lowered. His hand reached forward.
She thought her purity had swayed him.
Then his blade split her in two.
Lotus ponds boiled crimson. Disciples floated like wilted flowers, their bodies bloated and drifting. The sect's sacred gardens became mass graves.
> POV: Saintess Lira (last moments)
"I begged the goddess. She said nothing. He answered. And in his answer, I realized—perhaps he was the only god that ever listened."
The Ivory Empire — The Last Throne
The last empire stood with walls taller than mountains. The Ivory Emperor gathered every cultivator, every mercenary, every spirit beast. He believed their capital was impregnable.
When Aezreal arrived, he brought silence.
Nyx's roar shattered the clouds. His sword intent awakened fully, cutting walls into dust. His scythe intent swept through battalions, reducing thousands to mist.
> POV: The Ivory Emperor
"The walls had stood for a thousand years. When his blade fell, the stones turned to powder. And with them, so did my hope."
The Empress slit her own throat before he could take her. Their son charged, blade in hand, only to be devoured whole by Nyx.
By dawn, the Ivory Empire was no more. The last throne cracked beneath Aezreal's boot.
The Throne of Bones
The world fell silent.
Every empire. Every sect. Every clan. Every wandering cultivator.
All crushed beneath one man.
Aezreal sat upon a throne carved from the bones of sovereigns, Nyx coiled around it like a living mountain. Across the horizon, black banners bearing his sigil waved.
He looked at the world he had claimed. And for the first time, he felt the hunger sharpen.
This world was not enough.
The Breaking of the Mortal Cage
The skies shuddered.
Cracks of golden lightning tore across the firmament. Mortals screamed, believing the end had come. Temples crumbled, rivers rose, mountains groaned.
Aezreal rose from his throne, scythe in one hand, sword in the other.
"This world is too small."
Nyx spread her wings, roaring so loud the heavens split. Blood from the earth rose like mist, circling them as the Mortal Realm itself began to collapse beneath their existence.
The cage of the Mortal World was breaking.
And Aezreal stepped forward, eyes fixed not on the ashes beneath him—
—but on the Immortal World above.