The void beyond realms was not empty — it was vast with purpose. Where the roots of creation did not reach, where mortal minds could never tread, the Council of the Outer Gods stood eternal.
A titanic hall carved from the marrow of a dead cosmos stretched into infinity, its walls lined with obsidian spires that pulsed like arteries. Every seat at the circular table belonged to an Outer God, each emanating their own distorted gravity of presence. Some cloaked themselves in form; others radiated as pure concepts too vast to be named.
It was here Malthior and Veloria arrived.
Malthior stepped first, his void-etched armor gleaming like polished starlight. Every movement carried the authority of a knight who bowed to no one but his lord. Beside him, Veloria moved with graceful arrogance, her midnight-flame wings unfurled only enough to make the statement clear — she was not prey, and never would be.
The chamber stirred. Eyes like eclipsed suns and mouths that sang in entropy turned their focus to them. One Outer God, a towering husk of ash and flame, leaned forward with a rumble.
"So…" the voice was ancient, cruel, echoing through dimensions, "…Lucien's dogs arrive."
Another, more serpentine, laughed. "The knight is an afterthought. It is the winged one who carries his presence. Surely she is the commander."
The hall rippled with amusement — dreadful, mocking.
Veloria's lips curled faintly into a smirk, her violet eyes glancing sidelong at Malthior. They think I'm the First? How flattering.
Malthior's jaw tightened under his helm. A vein of irritation pulsed. Flattering? Hah. To mistake you for me is an insult carved into the marrow of existence itself.
The serpentine Outer God moved without warning, his tendrils snapping forward like void-born spears aimed at Veloria. The hall thundered with laughter — until it was silenced by a single, resounding clash.
Malthior had moved.
His blade split the void itself, shattering the tendrils into dust. The sheer pressure of his swing cracked the obsidian spires lining the chamber. His voice rang like steel on steel, sharp and unforgiving.
"I am Malthior. First Commander of the Sole Exception. Knight of Inevitability. To mistake me for lesser is to invite ruin."
Veloria tilted her head, wings flicking with mocking sweetness. "So dramatic, Sir Knight. I was almost enjoying the mistake."
"Silence," Malthior muttered, though his eyes burned brighter beneath the helm. She'll never let me live this down.
The serpentine Outer God screeched as one of his cores fractured, ichor dripping into the void. And yet, the rest of the council… did nothing. They simply observed.
There were beings here who dwarfed both Malthior and Veloria combined — Outer Gods who had not stirred for aeons. Some watched with detached interest, others with cruel amusement. For them, this was entertainment, tradition.
The Council was not a place of peace. It was not diplomacy. It was… habit. A gathering where Outer Gods from countless universes measured each other's weight, where subordinates were tested, where power was announced not in words, but in survival.
Malthior lowered his blade, flicking the remnants of entropy from its edge. His voice dropped to a calm growl.
"Next who mistakes me will not be injured. They will be erased."
Veloria chuckled softly beside him, whispering so only he could hear. "You should've seen your face, all righteous fury. Truly, First Commander, you wear irritation like a crown."
Malthior exhaled sharply, steadying his knightly posture, though his mind seethed. If not for our Lord's command, I'd send her flying through a dozen black holes myself.
The chamber remained still, countless monstrous gazes locked upon them. The test was not over — but the message was clear.
Lucien's army had arrived. And even the Council of the Outer Gods had taken notice.