"Even gods bleed when Chaos rises."
The world was burning.
Mountains cracked open like broken bones, rivers boiled, and the sky—once blue—was nothing but a bleeding wound.
Chaos knelt in the center of it all, bound in chains made of light. The fire around him didn't come from hell. It came from heaven.
"Ezekiel, once the blade of the gods," a voice thundered from above. "You betrayed the Celestial Order. You defied the Divine Command. For your sins, you shall be erased."
The man once known as Ezekiel didn't look up. His long, black hair clung to his scorched face, his eyes glowing like dying embers.
"I didn't betray you," he said, voice hoarse, shaking with fury. "I saw the truth. You're no gods—just parasites feeding on worship."
The crowd of divine figures hovering in the sky stirred. Their wings shimmered like blades of glass.
"Silence." The voice of the High Seraph cut through the storm. "You dare question us?"
Chaos—no longer Ezekiel, not truly—lifted his head. Despite the chains burning into his flesh, a smile spread across his cracked lips.
"I don't question gods," he said. "I burn them."
Lightning struck.
The gods unleashed holy fire, and the world screamed. Chaos's body was consumed, turned to ash and dust, every bone collapsing under divine wrath.
But something—something ancient and furious—stirred beneath his agony.
A heartbeat.
Deep, slow, and monstrous.
Thump.
The fire dimmed for a second, as if the flames themselves hesitated.
Thump.
The ashes of Chaos began to swirl, gathering around an invisible core. The air grew heavy, filled with whispers that weren't words but hunger.
Thump.
"Impossible…" murmured one of the angels. "His soul should be gone!"
The High Seraph's eyes widened.
"That heartbeat—it isn't divine…"
No, it wasn't.
It was something demonic.
Centuries later…
The world had become a graveyard. Cities turned to rust and dust, skies blackened with ash. Humanity had survived, barely—but not as rulers.
The new kings were monsters.
Demons. Beasts. Shadows wearing human skin.
And in the wasteland once called the "Divine Land," something moved beneath the ashes.
A hand—blackened, clawed, and dripping with molten blood—tore through the ground. Then another.
Chaos dragged himself out of the earth, naked and steaming, smoke rising from his flesh.
His hair was longer now, darker. His eyes, two burning pits of crimson.
He looked around at the dead world and exhaled a breath of fire and frost.
"…How long?" His voice was deeper, distorted—as if ten voices spoke through him at once.
No answer came, only the whisper of the wind through broken bones.
He stared at his own hand, trembling. A sigil pulsed beneath his skin—a dark, rotating spiral.
The Demonic Core.
Then the memories hit him.
The gods. The flames. The betrayal.
And his last words before dying—I burn gods.
A growl tore from his throat. "Then let it begin again."
He stood, and as he did, the ground beneath him cracked open, releasing a wave of black fire. His shadow stretched unnaturally, spreading across the ruins like living smoke.
From far away, a group of scavengers—humans—saw the explosion and froze.
"What the hell was that?" one muttered.
Another whispered, "A demon's awakening…"
They weren't wrong.
Chaos began to walk, every step heavy, powerful. The Demonic Core inside him pulsed faster, feeding off his rage.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
He stopped when he saw it—a crumbled statue of a winged god, half-buried in sand. Its once-pure marble was cracked and hollow, its face broken.
He raised his hand, touching the remains.
"You burned me once," he whispered. "Now I'll return the favor."
The statue's eyes began to glow faintly—as if something divine still lingered inside.
And that's when the whispers came.
A dozen voices from nowhere, echoing in his skull.
"You shouldn't have returned."
"You're not welcome here."
"You're not human anymore."
Chaos grinned.
"I was never human."
The ground shook violently. The statue exploded, and a wave of black fire roared outward, vaporizing everything in its path.
When the smoke cleared, Chaos stood alone among molten ruins. His shadow burned like wings behind him—twisted, demonic wings.
He clenched his fist.
"Let the gods tremble," he said. "The world that burned me will burn again."
Above him, thunder cracked.
Somewhere beyond the veil of the dying sky, something ancient stirred in response—a divine presence waking to the return of the one it had tried to erase.
For the first time in centuries, the heavens whispered a single word:
"Chaos."
And in the wasteland below, the man who burned smiled.