LightReader

Chapter 1 - Chapter 0: The Day the Sun Died

When the Gods Fall, I Will Rise

Chapter 0: The Day the Sun Died

The initial harbinger of chaos was not a crack of thunder or a whisper of wind, but an oppressive silence that settled over the land like a shroud. It wasn't the gentle, calming hush that often precedes a tempest, nor was it the serene stillness that enfolds the world as night blankets day. No, this silence was too profound, a disquieting absence of sound that seemed to halt time itself, as if the universe was holding its breath, waiting for something catastrophic that was already unfurling.

In an instant, the vibrant chorus of birds that filled the bright azure sky vanished mid-flight, their melodic songs abruptly stifled, trapped unuttered within their throats. The once-bustling winds, which danced playfully through the leaves and brought whispers from afar, ceased entirely, as if the life-breath of the planet had been unceremoniously snatched away. Even the mighty oceans, usually tumultuous and alive with their roiling tides, lay eerily calm, their surfaces turning as smooth and unyielding as highly polished granite. It was as though the world had paused in a moment of collective dread, suspended in the air, poised at the edge of something that had already begun to unfold.

I stood among billions of souls, each person instinctively turning their gaze skyward in bewilderment. At first glance, what appeared before me hardly seemed real; it resembled a storm cloud of incomprehensible magnitude, a vast obsidian sphere that eclipsed the once-brilliant sun in an instant. But it was not merely a storm brewing on the horizon; rather, it was an insatiable void, consuming the light. This blackness crept insidiously at the sun's edges with a meticulous hunger, devouring its flames as if the very fabric of the sky was yearning for power.

Panic should have driven us to flee, an instinctual urge to escape the impending doom. Yet, paradoxically, no one moved. It was as if the chilling stillness that saturated the atmosphere had infiltrated our very bones, casting an oppressive weight upon us that anchored us steadfast to the ground, forcing our eyes to remain locked on the unfolding horror above. As the light receded, our shadows seemed to stretch and elongate eerily across the ground, a premature twilight unfurling itself in the heart of a sunlit day. The cerulean of the sky dulled into a sickly, pallid hue before surrendering entirely to the encroaching darkness.

Then came the voices.

They crashed upon our ears like thunderclaps, not emanating from a singular source but reverberating from every direction, as if the earth and the heavens had conspired to unite in a single, horrific declaration. These voices were layered, overwhelming in their inexorable weight, syllables too immense for mere mortals to comprehend, yet each word exuded a piercing clarity that etched itself into the depth of my very being.

"Kneel before the Nine Thrones. From this day forward, the world belongs to us."

The proclamation was inexorable. It was an edict that shook the foundation of existence itself.

With that command, the very heavens ruptured.

The first crushing wave of destruction surged through the realm like an unstoppable tidal wave, obliterating everything in its path without a moment's notice. Towering skyscrapers of glass and steel, monuments that once stood proud as symbols of human ambition and ingenuity, were reduced to splinters, shredded as though they were nothing more than delicate parchment caught in a tempest. Ancient temples built to honor gods and withstand the ravages of time crumbled in an instant, their once-sacred stones scattered like grains of sand on the wind. Fire rained from the fractured sky, striking the earth with a vengeance that turned entire cities into raging infernos in mere seconds. The seas, once teeming with life and vibrant colors, churned violently, their surfaces boiling and frothing, twisted into monstrous whirlpools capable of swallowing entire islands whole. Beneath our feet, the ground moaned in agony as mighty mountains groaned and cracked, erupting in violent displays that unleashed rivers of molten rock, scorching everything in their wake.

The black sphere morphed into an inexorable wound in the sky from which figures descended, clad in light so brilliant that it felt blasphemous to gaze upon them. They were seated upon thrones that seemed foreign to our world, exquisite thrones carved from the essence of eternity itself, shimmering with symbols that seemed to claw at the very vision of our eyes and send a tremor of fear through our souls. Each figure loomed with a terribleness that was both awe-inspiring and dread-filled. Each one was a god.

On that fateful day, every man, woman, and child bore their mark, an indelible symbol that appeared suddenly, burning into our flesh with a pain so intense that it felt as if our very being was being redefined. I still remember the acrid smell of my own flesh searing, the hissing sound of my scream merging with the cacophony of millions echoing all around me. This mark was not something one could disguise or conceal. It glowed ominously upon our arms, our necks, our chests, radiating a cruel luminosity that felt like a cosmic brand searing into our existence.

And with this mark came the grim law.

Seven days. That was the decree that echoed through the stillness like an impending guillotine. Seven days were all we were given to slay a god. If we failed, we would not merely die, no, we would be erased. Not killed in the conventional human sense; we would be made to vanish, obliterated from existence itself as if we had never drawn breath in the first place.

The initial day was steeped in confusion and disbelief. We grasped at our burning marks, our eyes wide with horror as we scanned the faces of those around us. Some of us knelt, beseeching the heavens for forgiveness, wailing into the void above. Others laughed wildly, their laughter a tumultuous mingling of hysteria and defiance, as though madness was a preferable alternative to confronting the monstrous reality. Many clung desperately to their loved ones, hearts pounding in a frenzied hope that perhaps, in the warmth of familial bonds, they might find a shield against the looming judgment.

The second day descended upon us like a harbinger of doom, saturated in a visceral tide of blood. Cities that once pulsed with life fell abruptly into disarray, their vibrant streets transformed into corridors of chaos. Those who had taken solace in the illusion that the law was mere metaphorical language learned, with harrowing clarity, the grim truth: the law was an unyielding force, and its wrath was absolute. They simply vanished before our very eyes, their bodies disintegrating into wisps of nothingness as the seventh day delivered its merciless verdict upon them. In the wake of this harrowing reality, desperation took root like a malicious vine, wrapping around humanity's collective heart. People turned on one another, tearing at the fabric of society, clawing for any semblance of hope, any glimmer of survival amid the wreckage.

The third day ushered in an all-encompassing despair that wrapped its cold fingers around our throats. The gods, those ancient and terrible beings, descended into our world, walking among the crumbling remnants of our civilization with the languid grace of apex predators surveying their prey. We bore witness to their power as one god tore the very heart from a mountain, sending rocks tumbling down like raindrops in an avalanche. Another god effortlessly split the sea with a single, contemptuous hand, while yet another silenced a legion, their voices stilled by the sheer weight of a single spoken word. We were left breathless, paralyzed by the revelation that these beings were untouchable, enshrined in a sphere of power that rendered any mortal thought of retaliation laughable.

As for me, I drifted through this storm of chaos and ruin fueled by a deep-seated cowardice that I freely acknowledge. While others sharpened their blades and braved the buttons of fate, I sought refuge in shadows, hiding from the impending doom that loomed over us. I scavenged for sustenance among the detritus of shattered homes, seeking remnants of a life that felt like a distant memory. I slept amidst the ash of once-sacred temples, dreaming restless dreams, and fled at the mere sight of flames licking at the sky. My heart was heavy with sorrow as I witnessed the faces of loved ones twist in terror, only to have them consumed by the edicts of a decree most could not escape. The endless wails of children who had never known comfort echoed around me, forming a symphony of anguish that blended with the oppressive silence of a world turned upside down. The world around me morphed into a graveyard, a reminder of lives extinguished amidst screams and shadows that lingered like smoke in the air.

Then came the seventh day, a day I would not escape. I, too, was seized by the unrelenting grip of fate.

I felt the brand upon my arm burn fiercely, a searing pain coursing through me as if my very spirit were being scorched from the inside out. My vision swirled into darkness, overwhelming and all-consuming, and my body crumpled to the ground. I clawed at the earth beneath me, desperate to resist, to cling to life just a moment longer, yet the decree was law, unbending and cold. My flesh crumbled to ash, my voice dissolved into a haunting silence, while the yawning abyss of oblivion enveloped me, welcoming me into its dark embrace.

It should have ended there, a bitter, poignant conclusion to a harrowing tale. But fate, it seems, had other plans.

When I opened my eyes again, the sun beamed down upon me, bright and unblemished, bathing the world in its golden light. The sky stretched above, a perfect blue, unmarred by the shadows of doom. The air was filled once more with the vibrant melody of birdsong, and the gentle breeze caressed my skin as if nothing terrible had ever transpired. I sat upright, trembling with disbelief, my lungs gasping for air as I grappled with the surreal predicament.

It felt as if time itself had bent, unfolded, and reformed.

Staggering to my feet, I surveyed the street that had once been my home. It stood intact, whole, spared from the ravages of fire or ruin. The buildings were erect and proud, their windows catching the sunlight in a dazzling display, while people moved about cheerfully, laughter rising like bubbles in a boiling pot, blissfully unaware of the catastrophe that lurked on the horizon. In my desperation, I seized the arm of a frazzled passerby, my voice trembling with urgency as I demanded to know what day it was.

He cast me a perplexed glance, and with an expression mingled with curiosity and concern, replied, "It is the day of the sun's festival. Seven days before midsummer."

Seven days.

The same day it had all begun.

Panic surged through me, intermingled with awe and disbelief. Had I simply been ensnared in some fevered dream? No, the vivid memories clawed at my sanity, too real to dismiss. The pain, the terror, the gods, they lingered in my mind with a clarity that banished doubt. I glanced down at my arm, expecting the cruel brand to sear itself into my skin once more, a grotesque reminder of my previous fate.

Yet what I saw was entirely different.

Instead of the familiar, torturous sigil that had marked the others, there was an empty, nameless emblem, a hollow crown formed of shadows and silence. As I stared at it, a ripple of unease settled over me, a sensation as if the world was recoiling from this ominous mark. My breath hitched in my throat; while the throngs around me remained blissfully ignorant, the sky, the very sky itself, quivered with trepidation.

The Nameless Throne.

I tightened my fist, feeling an ancient power stir within me, distinct from anything I had ever known. It did not demand my servitude; it merely murmured sweetly, endlessly, offering me strength capable of rending the very heavens apart.

For the first time, I no longer felt like a mere prey, caught in an inescapable hunt.

I lifted my gaze to the brilliant sun, blazing fiercely in the azure sky, and in that moment, I understood the gift I had been bestowed: a tremendous opportunity. A chance to rise up, to unravel the threads of tyranny that had shackled us to despair. A chance to make the gods pay for the suffering they had inflicted upon humanity.

They believed they had ensnared us within the confines of their unfathomable game. They thought their law was an ironclad decree, unbreakable and everlasting. But I had been granted something that existed outside their realm of control, a throne without name, without allegiance, glimmering with potential.

And so, I swore my unshakeable oath.

When the gods fall, I will rise.

To be continued...

More Chapters