"Even in death, the divine still bleeds."
The first thing I felt was… light.
Not warmth — light. A hollow imitation of radiance that burned the eyes but carried no life.
The rift closed behind me, sealing with a soft sigh that sounded almost like regret. When my boots touched the fractured marble of this world, I realized I had entered a place that once called itself heaven.
Now, it was nothing but a graveyard of gods.
Golden pillars crumbled into ash around me. Rivers of liquid luminescence flowed between jagged ruins, the current whispering in a tongue older than creation itself. Corpses of winged beings lay frozen in place — some half-embedded in the glassy ground, their once-holy halos flickering like dying embers.
Above, a sun that wasn't a sun bled streams of pale gold across a shattered sky.
Each step I took made the ground hum in protest, as if it remembered what I was — and wished it didn't. The resonance here was fragile, the melody of a dying symphony.
["⟟⧫⟟∴ᚠᚢᛁᛞ…"]
The Void Language slipped through me like instinct. My voice echoed through the empty cathedral air, shattering the silence. The walls responded — rippling, resonating with energy that had forgotten how to obey.
Light bent toward me.
This world was not built for creatures like me. Yet, it welcomed me all the same — because even divinity must bow when the Void calls.
I moved through the ruin. My eyes adjusted to the brilliance, pupils narrowing until the surrounding glow fractured into streams of color I could dissect — taste — control.
It was then that I felt it again.
The hum.
A resonance I did not recognize.
Soft, melodic, threaded with warmth. It curled around my mind like silk.
A whisper followed — faint, delicate, yet too clear to mistake.
"…Azael."
I froze.
The name shouldn't have carried weight. Yet the way she spoke it — the way it echoed inside me — felt like the first crack in an unbreakable shell.
"Who speaks?" My voice cut through the air, low and dangerous.
No answer. Only the wind.
But the light began to move. Slowly, the fragments of this realm coalesced, twisting into form — a figure draped in threads of silver flame. Wings of translucent crystal spread across the ruined horizon, and within the brilliance, I saw her.
A silhouette. Nothing more.
But it was enough.
Her shape rippled like a reflection in still water. And for a moment — only a heartbeat — I thought I saw her eyes.
Not light. Not void.
Something in between.
Then she was gone.
The resonance lingered, fading like perfume on a corpse.
I clenched my fist. My chest felt… wrong. A hollow ache I couldn't name.
Anger. Confusion. Curiosity.
No. Not curiosity. I didn't feel. I consumed.
Still… her frequency refused to vanish. It hovered at the edge of perception, faintly intertwined with my own resonance. I could taste it in my aura, stubborn and alive.
"The light dares reach into my soul," I muttered. "Then it will burn for it."
The world shuddered in answer. The dying sky split with thunder.
From beyond the horizon, I sensed them — watchers. Survivors of this broken heaven, their presences weak yet ancient. They crawled among the ruins, whispering prayers to gods long dead.
When they felt me, their faith broke instantly. Their prayers turned to screams.
I didn't move at first. I wanted to feel it — the fear, the tremor in their souls, the dissonance of belief dying.
One of them stepped into view — a priest of light, half-luminous, half-decayed. His face was carved with despair, but his voice trembled with reverence.
"W-what are you?"
I tilted my head. "The question you ask assumes I am something that needs to be understood."
He fell to his knees, light leaking from his eyes. "Mercy—"
The word disgusted me.
In the next breath, his form inverted — light twisting inward, collapsing under its own holiness. He became a shard of silence.
And I felt it again. The resonance bending. Obeying.
His death song merged with the lingering frequency of her voice. For a moment, they harmonized — discordant, yet mesmerizing.
The world's broken divinity began to pulse in rhythm with my heartbeat.
I looked up. The false sun flickered — like it, too, feared what was coming.
Hours passed. Or seconds. Time was thin here.
I walked until the ruins gave way to a vast chasm — a rift splitting the heavens themselves. Inside it swirled storms of light and darkness, colliding endlessly. It was beautiful in its agony.
The wind screamed through the hollow expanse. The resonance in the storm… it was hers.
She was inside it.
A voice — clearer now — broke through the roar:
"…You are not what you think you are, Azael Voidborn."
The storm's energy wrapped around me, tendrils of living radiance trying to pierce my skin. They failed. Each thread of light that touched me turned black, devoured by my aura.
Yet her voice persisted, weaving through the chaos.
"Even the Void trembles for something it cannot consume."
I stepped forward, every motion deliberate, every thought sharpened. "And yet, everything falls eventually."
As I reached the edge of the chasm, a single bolt of light descended from the storm — not as an attack, but as a touch. It struck my chest, searing through the resonance that defined me.
For an instant, my heart beat.
The sky screamed. The ground fractured. Every dead god in this broken heaven shuddered in their tombs.
When the light faded, I stood alone again — smoke rising from my skin.
Her voice was gone. But something new pulsed within me.
Not pain. Not power.
Something dangerous.
I raised my hand. The veins beneath my skin glowed faintly violet. My aura shifted — no longer purely void, but streaked with traces of shimmering light.
"She left her mark," I whispered, staring at my palm. "And I will find her for it."
The words came softer than I expected.
When I turned to leave, the wind carried a final whisper — faint, tender, and uninvited:
"Then find me, my darkness."
The world broke open with thunder. And I smiled — sharp, cruel, and curious all at once.
"Even in death, the divine still bleeds."
The first thing I felt was… light.
Not warmth — light. A hollow imitation of radiance that burned the eyes but carried no life.
The rift closed behind me, sealing with a soft sigh that sounded almost like regret. When my boots touched the fractured marble of this world, I realized I had entered a place that once called itself heaven.
Now, it was nothing but a graveyard of gods.
Golden pillars crumbled into ash around me. Rivers of liquid luminescence flowed between jagged ruins, the current whispering in a tongue older than creation itself. Corpses of winged beings lay frozen in place — some half-embedded in the glassy ground, their once-holy halos flickering like dying embers.
Above, a sun that wasn't a sun bled streams of pale gold across a shattered sky.
Each step I took made the ground hum in protest, as if it remembered what I was — and wished it didn't. The resonance here was fragile, the melody of a dying symphony.
["⟟⧫⟟∴ᚠᚢᛁᛞ…"]
The Void Language slipped through me like instinct. My voice echoed through the empty cathedral air, shattering the silence. The walls responded — rippling, resonating with energy that had forgotten how to obey.
Light bent toward me.
This world was not built for creatures like me. Yet, it welcomed me all the same — because even divinity must bow when the Void calls.
I moved through the ruin. My eyes adjusted to the brilliance, pupils narrowing until the surrounding glow fractured into streams of color I could dissect — taste — control.
It was then that I felt it again.
The hum.
A resonance I did not recognize.
Soft, melodic, threaded with warmth. It curled around my mind like silk.
A whisper followed — faint, delicate, yet too clear to mistake.
"…Azael."
I froze.
The name shouldn't have carried weight. Yet the way she spoke it — the way it echoed inside me — felt like the first crack in an unbreakable shell.
"Who speaks?" My voice cut through the air, low and dangerous.
No answer. Only the wind.
But the light began to move. Slowly, the fragments of this realm coalesced, twisting into form — a figure draped in threads of silver flame. Wings of translucent crystal spread across the ruined horizon, and within the brilliance, I saw her.
A silhouette. Nothing more.
But it was enough.
Her shape rippled like a reflection in still water. And for a moment — only a heartbeat — I thought I saw her eyes.
Not light. Not void.
Something in between.
Then she was gone.
The resonance lingered, fading like perfume on a corpse.
I clenched my fist. My chest felt… wrong. A hollow ache I couldn't name.
Anger. Confusion. Curiosity.
No. Not curiosity. I didn't feel. I consumed.
Still… her frequency refused to vanish. It hovered at the edge of perception, faintly intertwined with my own resonance. I could taste it in my aura, stubborn and alive.
"The light dares reach into my soul," I muttered. "Then it will burn for it."
The world shuddered in answer. The dying sky split with thunder.
From beyond the horizon, I sensed them — watchers. Survivors of this broken heaven, their presences weak yet ancient. They crawled among the ruins, whispering prayers to gods long dead.
When they felt me, their faith broke instantly. Their prayers turned to screams.
I didn't move at first. I wanted to feel it — the fear, the tremor in their souls, the dissonance of belief dying.
One of them stepped into view — a priest of light, half-luminous, half-decayed. His face was carved with despair, but his voice trembled with reverence.
"W-what are you?"
I tilted my head. "The question you ask assumes I am something that needs to be understood."
He fell to his knees, light leaking from his eyes. "Mercy—"
The word disgusted me.
In the next breath, his form inverted — light twisting inward, collapsing under its own holiness. He became a shard of silence.
And I felt it again. The resonance bending. Obeying.
His death song merged with the lingering frequency of her voice. For a moment, they harmonized — discordant, yet mesmerizing.
The world's broken divinity began to pulse in rhythm with my heartbeat.
I looked up. The false sun flickered — like it, too, feared what was coming.
Hours passed. Or seconds. Time was thin here.
I walked until the ruins gave way to a vast chasm — a rift splitting the heavens themselves. Inside it swirled storms of light and darkness, colliding endlessly. It was beautiful in its agony.
The wind screamed through the hollow expanse. The resonance in the storm… it was hers.
She was inside it.
A voice — clearer now — broke through the roar:
"…You are not what you think you are, Azael Voidborn."
The storm's energy wrapped around me, tendrils of living radiance trying to pierce my skin. They failed. Each thread of light that touched me turned black, devoured by my aura.
Yet her voice persisted, weaving through the chaos.
"Even the Void trembles for something it cannot consume."
I stepped forward, every motion deliberate, every thought sharpened. "And yet, everything falls eventually."
As I reached the edge of the chasm, a single bolt of light descended from the storm — not as an attack, but as a touch. It struck my chest, searing through the resonance that defined me.
For an instant, my heart beat.
The sky screamed. The ground fractured. Every dead god in this broken heaven shuddered in their tombs.
When the light faded, I stood alone again — smoke rising from my skin.
Her voice was gone. But something new pulsed within me.
Not pain. Not power.
Something dangerous.
I raised my hand. The veins beneath my skin glowed faintly violet. My aura shifted — no longer purely void, but streaked with traces of shimmering light.
"She left her mark," I whispered, staring at my palm. "And I will find her for it."
The words came softer than I expected.
When I turned to leave, the wind carried a final whisper — faint, tender, and uninvited:
"Then find me, my darkness."
The world broke open with thunder. And I smiled — sharp, cruel, and curious all at once.