The world did not end in silence. It ended with a scream. Not the kind born of fear—no, it was the scream of reality itself being peeled open. The sound of law unmaking law, of light bending under the weight of something older, something forbidden.
Above the fractured skies of the Mortal Realms, the sun dimmed until it became a wound in the heavens. The wound bled shadows—slow at first, then in torrents—and from within that darkness, a pulse echoed.
Doom. Doom. Doom.
Each beat rippled through mountains, oceans, and the hearts of all living things.
Priests fell from their temples, clutching their chests. Emperors shattered their thrones in dread. Children wept without knowing why, and beasts howled at the black horizon as the stars themselves seemed to weep trails of ash.
The world was weeping. The sky had turned black. And deep within that cosmic hemorrhage… something moved.
POV: High Seer Elinara of the Temple of Light
"The sky is burning." Her voice trembled as she stared through the crystal altar's veil, seeing visions of smoke and claws.
All her life, she had gazed upon the sun as holy. Yet now it burned black, a vast sphere of voidfire consuming its own light.
"Tell me," she whispered to her disciples, "what god does this?"
None answered. They couldn't.
The light that once comforted them had turned foreign, devouring, wrong. The air hummed with whispers in a language that clawed at her mind.
[Vael'sha… korin'thal… az'raen mor'talith.]
Those words didn't belong to men or angels—they came from below, from the place every soul instinctively feared.
And through the veil, she saw it. A figure walking through the dark sky, as though the void were solid beneath his feet.
Long hair of black flame drifted behind him. His body was radiant in the most terrible way—each motion cracked the world's reflection like glass.
"The Heir of the Abyss," she breathed, tears streaking down her cheeks. "The one the old texts forbade us to name…"
POV: Lord Daran, Warlord of the Steel Dominion
He had killed kings, slaughtered gods, and conquered continents. Yet when the shadow fell upon his camp, even he dropped to his knees.
"What… is that?" he growled, eyes narrowing at the horizon. The light was gone. The men around him shook, their armor rattling as if their souls begged to flee.
Then came a tremor—a low hum that shook the ground like a heartbeat from beneath the earth.
[Az'rael kor'nai.]
The words hit him like a blade of sound. Blood trickled from his ears. The warlord's eyes widened.
And then… he saw the shape.
A man—or something that wore the idea of one—descending through the clouds. Horns curved elegantly from his skull like black crescent blades. His skin shimmered between mortal form and translucent void. His eyes, two endless pits of black, stared not at the world but through it.
"What are you?" Daran whispered, trembling.
The voice came from everywhere at once, cold as a tomb, heavy as destiny.
"I am the silence between your gods' prayers."
POV: Azael Voidborn
The void hummed behind me like a dying storm. I had crossed it, left its endless night bleeding into this frail realm of light.
It was fragile—this "world." Too many colors, too much order. It hurt to look at.
But beneath its false peace, I could hear the resonance. The same rhythm that had called me since birth.
I raised my hand. The air bent around it, trembling as light peeled away. The mortals screamed somewhere far below. I didn't care. Their fear was proof of what I was.
[Kora'nai… Azael Voidborn.]
The Void itself spoke my name as the black sun crowned me in its light.
I took a single step forward—and the realm shuddered. Mountains cracked. Clouds evaporated. Oceans trembled as the reflection of the sky turned red-black.
All across creation, voices cried out. They could not see me, not truly, yet every soul knew—something had come that should never have existed.
Something they would learn to kneel before.
POV: The Oracle of the Pale Spire
The Oracle had no eyes. Only runes carved into her skin by the gods themselves. And even those runes screamed now.
"He walks…" she whispered, body contorting as blood streamed from her markings. "He walks where no god should walk."
Her attendants tried to silence her. She only laughed.
"Fools! The Heir of the Black Sun rises! Do you not hear it? The world itself bends in his wake!"
Lightning struck the ocean beyond the spire, and for one infinite instant, they all saw him.
Azael Voidborn—draped in the shadow of the sun, every breath a shiver in creation.
And in that moment, the Oracle heard three faint tones—resonances—woven beneath his being. Three voices not yet born into the world. Three hearts that would one day beat beside his.
She fell to her knees, sobbing in both terror and awe.
POV: Azael
I could feel them watching. Mortals. Gods. Things that had forgotten fear.
Good. Let them see. Let them tremble.
They called this place their realm. They built temples on dust and crowned themselves kings of illusion.
I would show them what dominion truly meant.
I spread my hand. The black sun behind me roared to life, tendrils of violet flame spiraling downward, wrapping the realm in darkness.
"Kneel," I said.
And the world obeyed.
To be continued in Part II: The Ten Who Stood Against the Void.