The end of the world didn't begin with the noise it began with certainty.
Long ago when God's and devils walked the land there was a war waged between humans and devils. The devils did not march with banners nor roar they arrived like inevitability. They descended calmly, deliberately as if the world had already been judged and found unnecessary. The sky darkened not from smoke, but from their presence alone. Light bent. Sound dulled. Even time seemed reluctant to move forward once they arrived.
Humans cities were burned, children's killed, woman's abused beyond what could be seen.
Not all at once -- slowly, methodically. One city after another, one kingdom after another vanished between waves of infernal power. Streets which were once filled with laughter were filled with blood and screams now. Oceans churned as if rejecting the blood spilled into them. Forests screamed as they burned.
Mages fought.
They fought with everything they had.
Fire clashed against shadow. Holy barriers cracked under cursed blades. Ancient bloodlines awakened powers meant only for legends. Kings sacrificed armies. Nobles burned their own souls to fuel forbidden spells.
And still—
Humanity was losing.
This was not a war meant to be won.
This was an execution.
Then in the world filled of despair and war one man steeped forward.
No God claimed him.
No prophecy were made.
No army followed him.
He stood alone.
And the world held it's breath.
The first demon lord to challenge him died without understanding how. The second did not even manage to raise a weapon. Entire legions ceased to exist as if erased from reality itself. Space fractured. Concepts failed. Magic—once thought absolute—behaved like a frightened animal in his presence.
The blood moon shines brighter revealing a man in high collar black suit. He didn't wore any armour nor he needed that.
When the final devil fell there was no celebration.
Only silence.
Humanity survived.
And that man became legend.
They called him the King of Beginning, for from his victory, the world began anew.
The battlefield had stopped burning.
Ash drifted like tired snow.
The King of Beginning stood alone, his blade already gone—because there was nothing left to kill.
Behind him, humanity gathered.
Not cheering.
Watching.
The gods descended slowly, careful not to draw his attention too suddenly.
"You have saved them," the gods said.
The King turned.
For the first time since the war began, he looked… uncertain.
Humanity knelt.
Not in gratitude.
In fear.
A child hid behind her mother's legs.
A soldier tightened his grip on a broken spear.
The King noticed.
That hurt more than the war.
"You scare them," a god said softly.
The words were gentle.
The meaning was not.
"You ended the devils," another continued,
"but you were never meant to remain."
The sky dimmed.
Not from power.
From consensus.
"You don't belong to the future," the gods said together.
The King frowned.
For the first time, he questioned himself.
"I protected them," he said.
A god met his eyes.
"And you would do it again.
And again.
And again."
The world shifted.
Memories didn't vanish.
They were reframed.
Victories became accidents.
Mercy became destruction.
Silence became indifference.
"You see?" the gods whispered inside his mind.
"Even you don't know if you were right."
Something cracked.
Not his power.
His certainty.
They offered him a choice.
Not a prison.
A permission.
"Sleep," they said.
"Forget."
"Let the world heal without you."
The King looked at humanity again.
They wouldn't meet his gaze.
Slowly…
He nodded.
The seal was placed with his consent.
Light wrapped around him—not chains, but lullabies.
As he faded, one final thought surfaced:
If I am the problem… then ending me is kindness.
The gods did not correct him.
And so the King of Beginning was erased—