The battlefield stilled.
Not frozen. Not silent.
But stilled—like even time itself was holding its breath.
The resurrected shell of Terrosia groaned under the strain of their battle. Chasms split across its surface, revealing jagged slivers of the true execution grounds beneath. Flames of memory burned where grass once grew, and fractured dimensions bled raw light into the ruins.
Terrosia was no longer a home.
It was a monument to defiance.
A graveyard they refused to accept.
Ryu stood at the edge of a crater, breath ragged, staring across at Onyx. The Voidwrath had regained his footing, his chest rising and falling like a beast barely holding onto control.
Luto staggered to Ryu's side. Bloodied, beaten, but unbowed. He had bested Velgrath in speed and sheer precision, though his body bore the cost.
The war wasn't over.
But something within it had just changed.
⸻
The Battle Inside the Void
Onyx didn't move.
Not outwardly.
Inside… there was war.
He stood in an infinite void, divine glyphs slithering across his limbs like parasites. Their whispers echoed through his skull:
"You are ours."
"You serve now."
"The past is a lie."
Their voices were chains. Their voices were knives.
And yet—
Another voice cut through.
"You're still our brother."
Ryu's words.
Not from outside.
But from within.
Memories flooded in like a broken dam.
The dusty street where they sparred as kids. The scent of burnt bread from Luto's disastrous cooking experiments. Ryu's ridiculous victory dances, flailing arms and wide grin, making strangers laugh even after losing meals to theft.
A thousand fractured moments.
All beautiful.
All his.
"You're not just a weapon."
The glyphs pulsed harder, thrashing like serpents. Pain lanced through him, dragging him back toward submission.
But Onyx dropped to one knee, fists clenched so hard blood dripped between his fingers.
"I remember…" he gasped.
"I… waited…"
"I… held on…"
Tears finally broke through the cracks in his hollow violet eyes.
In the real world, his body convulsed. A wave of cosmic pressure erupted from him, knocking Ryu and Luto backward across the broken terrain.
Onyx on one knee in the ash, head bowed, shoulders trembling.
"…Brothers…"
His voice cracked.
"Please…"
"Help me."
Tears streamed down his scarred face.
Ryu froze. His breath caught in his throat. For the first time in years, he heard the brother he remembered.
"…Worth it's weight in gold," Ryu whispered hoarsely. His smile trembled.
Luto swallowed hard, chest heaving. "Tch… took you long enough."
But his eyes were wet.
⸻
The Divine Strike
Then—
A thunderous crack split the heavens.
The false sky tore open like fabric ripped from the seam.
Both Ryu and Luto looked up, gasping, sweat and blood matting their faces. Their bodies shook—not from fear, but exhaustion. Their breaths came ragged, their voices nearly breaking as they spoke.
"What now…?" Ryu rasped.
"I don't…" Luto's voice faltered. "…I don't like this."
The gods did not wait.
And they would not lose control.
From the wound in the sky descended a Divine Executioner—an enforcer clad in armor of living light, molded in silence. Its presence crushed the air, its eyes devoid of anything but purpose.
Its voice was finality:
"Execute: All anomalies."
Ryu and Luto's blood ran cold.
They knew that phrase.
Everyone in the multiverse did.
It was death.
The Executioner moved—faster than sound, faster than thought—straight for Onyx.
"NO!"
Luto flung Nulvyr forward, blades blazing with blue cosmic lightning. Space bent, time fractured—yet the Executioner slid past the strike.
SHHUNK!
Its blade pierced Onyx's side, driving clean through.
Onyx's body convulsed. Blood sprayed across the cracked earth. His runes flared wildly, then dimmed, sputtering like dying embers.
Ryu stood wide-eyed, shaking. His lips moved, whispering words even he couldn't hear.
Luto's chest seized, overstimulated, trembling as his mind scrambled for a plan that wouldn't come.
And then—
Ryu screamed.
Not in rage.
Not yet.
In anguish.
Until anguish became something else.
⸻
The Ancient Awakens
The Executioner turned, blade now drawing toward Luto.
And the world shifted.
Time stuttered. Space cracked like glass.
A sound—thunder, but reversed.
The Executioner's hollow eyes widened.
Too late.
Ryu appeared behind them. A blur of crimson-tipped dreadlocks, his bandana fluttering. His eyes burned with a red so deep it bled into reality itself, veins pulsing at his temples, his breath like fire.
His voice cut like a blade.
"Touch my brothers again."
"I dare you."
Then—his fist detonated through the Executioner's chest.
Not magic.
Not technique.
Just raw, ancient power—burning divinity like paper.
The Executioner's body shattered mid-air, fragments of light raining down like broken glass. The impact shattered the last hold on Terrosia's illusion.
The false world dissolved.
The execution grounds returned—an endless wasteland of bone, ash, and divine machinery, veiled in eternal shadow.
Onyx bled in the dust.
Luto staggered, staring in disbelief.
And Ryu stood in the center of it all. Trembling. Panting. His aura blazing.
Uncontrolled.
Unfiltered.
Unrestrained.
Luto's heart sank.
"…Oh no."
⸻
Divine Alarm
In the Celestial Vault, bordering the Riven Dimension—
Alarms that hadn't rung in millennia screamed across eternity.
The Seven Voices stirred. Thrones carved from the laws of reality themselves trembled.
"The Executioner has fallen."
"The youngest has awakened."
"This cannot continue."
The Voice of Order's words were sharp, cold, absolute.
The Voice of Judgment leaned forward, divine pressure crushing galaxies with a thought.
The Voice of Fate only smiled, her eyes glinting with amusement.
Elsewhere, the other Voices stirred in their own realms, cloaked in mystery. The Voice of Genesis laughed, cruel and manic.
"In the end, the germ failed to obey. Worthless. The three of them will die screaming."
And then—
Judgment's voice cut through.
"Release them."
⸻
The Seven Sentients
Across dimensions, chains shattered. Seals untethered.
They were not gods.
They were worse.
The Sentients.
The direct disciples of the Seven Voices. Not hollow like executioners, but sharpened blades, each embodying their master's will.
Three answered the call:
Kaelor, the Final Brand – Sentient of Judgment.
A towering figure in molten robes, faceless helm burning with verdicts. Each word he spoke was a sentence.
Velissara, the Threaded Oracle – Sentient of Fate.
A woman of silver skin and starlit hair, strings of crimson tied to her fingers stretching infinitely into the void. She smiled, speaking in paradox.
Draelith, the Iron Mandate – Sentient of Order.
A colossus of flawless blue-silver armor, face hidden beneath a geometric mask, radiating cold blue light. He spoke not words, but commands.
They stood before their Voices, tension palpable. Velissara giggled, twirling a thread. "How quaint. At least Sytherion isn't here—Genesis's little spark is unbearable."
Kaelor didn't react.
Draelith's voice was clinical. "Proceed."
And the order was given.
⸻
Fractured Peace
Back on the battlefield…
Luto's fists clenched as he staggered toward Onyx's broken body. His mind raced, frantic, desperate.
"They knew… this was the trap…"
His knees nearly buckled as he reached his brother, hands shaking as he tried to staunch the bleeding. His lips whispered the forbidden words Eralyx had taught them.
Soul-Tether Transference.
He didn't care about the risk.
He only cared about Onyx.
Behind him, Ryu stood at the eye of a storm of burning crimson, his aura splitting the sky itself, screaming against the gods.
And above, the Sentients prepared to descend.