> "When the gods fall silent, it means they are afraid."
The world had changed overnight.
From the ruins of a forgotten empire, a storm of shadows had risen. Cities that once worshiped the divine were now empty, their temples desecrated. Across deserts and dead seas, one name began to spread like wildfire — Chaos.
The King of Ruin.
The Shadow Monarch.
The God-Slayer.
They whispered his name in fear, in awe, in prayer.
But Chaos didn't care about names. He cared about power.
---
He stood upon the balcony of a fortress carved from obsidian. Below him stretched the newly built capital of his domain — The Abyssal Citadel, a city that breathed darkness.
From the distance, his undead legions marched in perfect rhythm, their eyes glowing faint crimson.
The air vibrated with demonic chants as the Core pulsed inside him, feeding on the energy of the conquered.
> "You've built your throne," the Core murmured. "Now, build your world."
Chaos's eyes glowed faintly red. "Not yet. First, I'll burn theirs."
---
Deep beneath the citadel, in a chamber lit by black fire, Chaos stood before a map — a projection of the world itself, drawn by blood and runes.
Half the map glowed dark red — territories under his control.
The rest shimmered gold — lands still under the gods.
A voice interrupted him.
> "My king, the scouts have returned."
He turned. One of his generals knelt — a towering being of bone and steel named Morrath.
"They march from the north," Morrath said. "The Divine Host — twelve thousand strong. They bear the banner of the Archangel Seraphiel."
Chaos's expression didn't change. "Seraphiel…"
He remembered that name. The blade that struck him down centuries ago. The executioner of his mortal life.
The Core pulsed violently.
> "He's the one who killed you. His light once burned your soul."
Chaos smiled faintly. "Then it's time he learned how it feels to burn."
---
At dawn, the sky split open.
The Divine Host appeared like a storm of gold and white, descending from the heavens with hymns that shook the mountains.
Their wings shimmered like sunlight on crystal.
Their blades glowed with the light of judgment.
At their center — Archangel Seraphiel, radiant and cruel, his halo burning brighter than the sun.
He raised his sword.
> "Chaos," he thundered. "Your blasphemy ends here."
The world trembled.
Mountains cracked. Rivers boiled.
But Chaos didn't flinch.
He stepped forward, his black cloak fluttering in the wind, his eyes locked on the angel.
> "You talk too much."
He raised his hand — and the sky darkened instantly.
---
From every shadow, they emerged.
Thousands — tens of thousands — of creatures born from death and despair.
Skeletons, wraiths, demons with molten eyes, beasts forged from living fire.
The army of the Abyssal King.
The angels hesitated — just for a second. And that second was enough.
> "Kill them all," Chaos whispered.
The battlefield erupted in fire.
Darkness met light in an explosion that turned the air to ash.
The clash of wings filled the sky — black feathers and golden ones falling together like rain.
Every impact shook the earth; every scream echoed across worlds.
Chaos moved through it all like a shadow, untouchable, unstoppable.
His blade — the Aetherbane — cut through divine armor as if it were paper.
Each strike drained the light from his enemies, feeding his Core.
> "You can't win," Seraphiel shouted, descending in a blaze of holy light.
"You're still just a mortal playing god!"
Chaos parried his strike. Sparks exploded around them.
"Funny," he said, smirking. "That's what your god said before I burned him."
---
The duel that followed was beyond human comprehension.
Every blow shattered reality itself.
Every parry split clouds and mountains alike.
The sky turned black. The sun vanished behind storms of fire.
Seraphiel's sword — Lumenfall — clashed against Chaos's Aetherbane, light against shadow.
"Why?" the angel shouted. "Why destroy what remains?"
Chaos's eyes glowed brighter. "Because what remains was never worth saving."
He drove his blade through the angel's chest.
Seraphiel gasped — light pouring from the wound.
"Impossible…"
Chaos leaned close, whispering, "Even gods bleed when Chaos rises."
Then he tore the sword free — and the Archangel exploded into a storm of light.
---
Silence.
The Divine Host fell one by one.
Those who survived fled to the skies, their wings broken, their faith shattered.
The battlefield was nothing but ashes and bones.
Chaos stood among the ruins, breathing slowly, his black armor scorched, his aura still burning.
The Core pulsed once, twice — then calmed.
> "You've done it," the Core whispered. "The gods will send more. Stronger ones."
"I hope they do," Chaos said quietly. "Because I'm done hiding."
He raised Seraphiel's broken halo, now tarnished and cracked, and placed it atop his throne.
"From today," he declared, "the world will remember one law — the strong create, the weak obey."
The legions roared in unison, shaking the heavens.
> "All hail Chaos."
The shadow of his wings spread across the sky — and for the first time in centuries, the light of the gods retreated.
---