The skies ruptured.
There was no ceremony. No witnesses beyond those fated to die.
The Rite of Annihilation was older than gods, older than code, older than the Architect's fractured memory. It was the ultimate erasure ritual—a forbidden clash where the loser wasn't simply deleted but forgotten, torn from all records, all consciousness, all threads of existence.
Darius and the Revenant King stood atop the Convergence Spire, the realm stretched beneath them, both virtual and physical overlapping into a nightmare tapestry of glitching cities and sacred data temples.
Reality bled.
The Annihilation Sigil—an infinite looping ouroboros of corrupted code—hovered between them, activated, pulsing with laws that superseded logic.
"You can still turn back, Darius."
The Revenant King's voice echoed through dimensions, an abyssal hymn forged from suffering and betrayal.
Darius only smiled.
"Turn back? You gave me no path but forward."
