"So, what is the situation with our plan? So we can begin sowing," Lord Kaelen inquired, his voice clear and tinged with tyranny. Every word resonated with divine law energy, a palpable force of imposed order. His entire being was composed of swirling light-gray cosmic energy, dense and powerful. Two pitch-black eyes bore down upon those assembled below, while intricate horn-like structures spiraled from his head, resembling a crown. Behind him, a large halo shimmered, mirroring the hue of his body.
The Council convened on an immense floating platform adorned with smooth, high-quality cream-colored marble, polished to such perfection that its surface glimmered like a mirror. At the platform's edge rose 32 colossal pillars, each carved with elaborate coiled monster figures reminiscent of Corinthian designs. These pillars dwarfed mortal forms but were still mere echoes of the grand temples built for gods.
Perched atop each pillar was a god, each embodying unique divine powers manifesting in vibrant colors. (Clockwise from Lord Kaelen): Lady Lysandra; Vorlag The Silent Broker; The Arbiter Zuriel; Grand Calculus Vex; The Warden Atra; Lady Seraphina-The Veiled; The Conduit Sol; Lord Mortis-The Collector; The Herald Vox; Lady Bellum-The Strategist; The Crucible Ignis; Lord Terron-The Foundation; Lady Zephyr-The Unseen Hand; The Overseer Ocular; Lord Chronos-The Meter; Lady Lux-The Illuminator; The Culler Raze; Lord Fathom-The Deep Thinker; Lady Styx-The Binder; Lord Moros-Warden Of Doubt; Lady Vina; Lord Nexus-The Connector; Lady Aura-The Reflector; The Chancellor Aegis; Lord Temper-The Forge Master; Lady Cypher-The Cryptic; The Scrivener Lumen; Lord Tyr-The Absolute; Lady Moirai-The String Puller; The Sentinel Gate; and Lord Gloom-The Dreader. The five gods and goddesses on either side of Lord Kaelen formed the High Council, while the others served as general members.
Above them, the celestial realm shimmered in hues of pastel blue, casting a tranquil light over everything. Nearby floated a vast scrying pool—a great, circular expanse resembling water, reflecting the divine spectacle.
A divine figure broke the silence. Lord Nexus, muscular and shrouded in cosmic pink interlaced with black, faced Lord Kaelen, fingers flicking gracefully toward the mirror surface of the pool. "Everything is set. I have forged a pathway from the Middle Realm to the Lower Realm," he declared, his voice calm yet filled with confidence, eyes fixated on the shimmering vision before them. "What you see here is an intricate map of Earth—the sole planet where mortals reside."
Lord Gloom stroked his long beard, his form cloaked in cosmic shadow, a triangle-shaped halo hovering ominously behind him. "It's smaller than I imagined," he mused.
"That's an easy fix," Lady Moirai replied, her smile devoid of warmth. Draped in cosmic dark blue, her light purple hair cascaded to her hips, her diamond-patterned halo gleaming above. "Simply enlarge Earth; mortals are easily reproduced. Their short lifespans are quite tragic, though."
"That's because they're mortals, you fool!" The Scrivener Lumen burst out, her high-pitched voice cutting through the air like glass. Wrapped in radiant white light, her face remained obscured, but the aura pulsating around her was unmistakably fierce. "Honestly, how did you even join this Council?"
Lady Moirai opened her mouth to retort, but—
"Enough!" Kaelen's voice crashed down like thunder, silencing the assembly instantly. The sheer power created tremors within their forms. "Cease this petty squabbling! We are engaged in a matter of paramount importance. Save your arguments for elsewhere if you must, but not here, not now. Do not forget why we are assembled today. We wager everything on this plan to finally break free from the Creator's suffocating grasp, so that we never again live in fear of vanishing as some ancient gods once did. This is our moment—a fleeting opportunity while he is absent!"
Eons had passed since the Creator—the ultimate source of all divine existence—had gone missing. Was he slumbering to regain power? Had he perished? Or was he simply distant, far beyond these realms? The gods mulled over these questions, uncertain.
Silence draped over them, each gaze drawn back to the pool. Some found amusement in the portrayal of Earth.
"I can't wait to play with them," Lady Zephyr cooed, clasping her hands with innocent delight. Her childlike form embodied sweetness, yet concealed darker intentions beneath her fluffy pink dress and angelic demeanor. The soft rays of her halo sparkled in agreement. "With monsters from the Middle Realm unleashing chaos, many will perish. They will ultimately pray to the heavens—and that's when we swoop in as their saviors! They will worship us willingly."
Laughter erupted among the gods, unfamiliar energy flowing freely around them, bubbling with vitality.
"Exactly," boomed Lord Temper, his laughter prominent. He resembled a sturdy dwarf with a thick, fiery red beard, embodying the same blazing energy coursing within him. He puffed on a metal pipe cigar, smoke swirling about him. "We provide weapons and tools, allowing them to believe in us... Mortals are simple creatures—like adopting stray dogs. Show kindness, and they will see you as a god, loyal to the point of sacrificing their lives for you."
Kaelen turned his attention to Lady Styx, a graceful goddess whose slender arms beckoned. "Have you completed the task I assigned to you? Can I see it now?"
Emerging from her elegant hand, a glowing rainbow box appeared, precisely 7x7x7 inches, adorned with ancient rune symbols engraved across its surface. "Indeed, Lord Kaelen. I call it the Aethelred System. It will awaken the mortals, granting them stronger bodies and extended lifespans. It allows constant monitoring—once stable, we'll observe every moment of their lives. For now, awakening them is our top priority."
Applause erupted, praises flooding the atmosphere as they celebrated Lady Styx's accomplishment.
"What's troubling you, Lady Lux?" queried Lord Moros, the Warden of Doubt. His form exuded transparency, stars twinkling like diamonds across his body. Only faint outlines defined his facial features, drawing attention to his penetrating gaze.
Lady Lux's expression was one of disgust, her voice dripping with disdain. "Don't use that irritating tone with me. It sickens me. I'm nothing like those here poisoned by your words." She kept her eyes trained on the mirror, unyielding. An hourglass figure clad in a silk gown accentuated her mesmerizing beauty; cascading waves of blue-white hair framed her face, while her aura glowed in cosmic light pink. "Lord Kaelen."
"Yes, Lady Lux. Any insight you'd like to share? You've been quiet in your corner."
"If a pathway is opened from the Middle Realm to the Lower Realm, hordes of monsters will rush in alongside citizens from the Middle Realm. The untouched mortals, lacking any outside influence, will be overwhelmed. Even with the Aethelred System awakening and empowering them, they'll still likely become feral beasts, devouring humans, turning our farm into ruin before it even begins. Furthermore, the energy harvested from 'revived' mortals won't remain pure. The 'revival' itself taints the gathered power. We must restrain the invaders from the Middle Realm—not solely to preserve the plan but to foster sustainable harvesting and manage the division of mortals among ourselves effectively."
An appreciative murmur spread through the group, respect evident in some expressions, while others bore frowns at their own oversight. Lady Zephyr crossed her arms, displeasure etched into her features.
"Excellent point, Lady Lux. Lord Mortis, amend this immediately," Kaelen commanded.
"Yes, Lord Kaelen. In accordance with Lady Lux's vital insight, I have instructed the Middle Realm beings regarding a revised, staged invasion plan. Powerful restraining magic has been cast, securing their cooperation. They will assist us in dividing the mortals according to our needs and their progress," answered Lord Mortis. Muscular and imposing, he lacked a shirt, revealing a formidable physique; a thin shroud of dirty white cloud hugged his lower half, while he gripped a gold staff. His double-lined halo glittered above him.
"However, I harbor concerns about the Aethelred system," Lady Cypher chimed, worry evident on her angelic, beautiful face. Despite her seemingly kind nature, her form was swaddled in runes she'd invented, which obscured her vision from prying eyes. Her veil hung delicately over her head, adding an element of mystery. "Its complexity might backfire. It could empower mortals to rise against us."
"It won't happen," Kaelen assured confidently. "Why? Because they are merely mortals. Even if they attain peak capabilities, they remain just that—mortals. They cannot exceed our power."
Silence fell again, but an intoxicating wave of excitement rippled among them, eager to execute the plan while feeling reluctant to show such enthusiasm in Kaelen's presence.
Uragast, once a member of the Council but now banished, knew the location of this secret gathering. Intent on reclaiming his place among them, he targeted Sentinel Gate—the guardian of access to this plane.
Just as Sentinel Gate prepared to sound a warning, "Intr…"—the cry abruptly transformed into a guttural scream, "In-arrgggh!"
Startled gasps echoed throughout the chamber as a gaping hole marred Sentinel Gate's abdomen, bright white blood spilling forth from its lips.
"Someone is manipulating the gates of the realms!" Kaelen proclaimed, tension surging. His divine senses flared, assessing their perilous situation.
Chancellor Aegis swiftly conjured a protective shield enveloping the entire platform. Faced with uncertainty, the Council members braced themselves for impending conflict, anxious that their plans may already be compromised.
Suddenly, Uragast descended from the skies, adopting his majestic Archangel-like form. Muscled and radiating potent divine energy, he stood resolute, a mane of shoulder-length, curling hair framing his determined gaze. Golden wings flared wide behind him, casting brilliant illumination. Clad in shining armor that gleamed under the ethereal light, he wielded a sword ablaze with golden fire. With swift authority, he cleaved through Aegis's shield, creating a deep cut that unraveled the barrier completely.
As he surveyed the assembly before him, his gaze landed squarely on Vina—her presence igniting memories and emotions from the past.
(Transition to Memory/Flashback)
Their last encounter had been a harsh exchange of fervent words, each sentence striking deeply.
Vina's voice had sliced through the air, filled with frustration and disappointment: "That's what I detest about you! You're too soft, too kind-hearted. Lowly gods offend you, yet you let it slide. Your birthright went to your half-brother while you did nothing! You serve our father without question! What if one day we vanish without a trace? And what of our offspring? What will become of them? What of us? Will you simply surrender?!"
Uragast countered, his voice rising in defiance: "You fear vanishing? Our existence is borrowed from the Creator! Were he to reclaim it, there's nothing we could do. That is his right! Everything we possess is due to him. And for what—your desire to abandon me? Is there someone else in your heart?"
Silence swallowed her response; Vina stared, unyielding. When she finally spoke, her icy finality chilled his heart: "Meet me at our usual spot only when you have truly changed." Abruptly, she turned and walked away.
(Return to Uragast's thoughts/Memory)
Reflecting upon their argument, Uragast felt an aching pang. He loved Vina fiercely, struggling against the idea of her choosing another; was he simply paranoid? Perhaps he needed to change if he wished to build a future with her. A gift awaited her—Aethel-Caris, a world of exquisite beauty he meticulously crafted, drawing inspiration from precious memories shared together.
Crimson hope surged within as he approached their meeting spot, only to find her absence an agonizing void. Betrayal clawed at his heart when he learned she'd replaced him on the Council, blind to the synonymous greed that pulled her away, shackling her newfound ambition with old ideals.
(Return to the Present Council Chamber)
Now, their gazes locked, pain mingling with cold resentment etched on her beautiful face. Some vestige of life still lingered within her, but it was overshadowed by darkness.
I hope you don't regret your choice.
Determined resilience shone through his visage as he shifted focus from Vina to the angry faces surrounding him. Conflict was about to erupt; he needed to prepare.
Uragast remained poised, floating above, surveying the assembly of 32 gods. Just seeing them quiver beneath his gaze afforded him some confidence. A sly smile escaped his lips, further igniting the wrath of those he looked down upon. Yet his fixation sharpened upon the ancient, black box sitting on the pedestal. He understood its purpose clearly.
His voice cut through the tension; calm yet filled with explosive power, it resounded in the chamber, "Look at you—all of you, hiding here, guarded by your pets. Cowardice is the posture you've adopted! And that very cowardice fuels my righteous anger! You seek to turn the mortal world into a mere means to your ends! Mortals are no toys. They are not playthings for your amusement! Do you fathom the Creator's design? The Three Realms exist apart for a reason—each to govern its domain! Violating that sacred order will have consequences!"
His gaze fixed directly on Kaelen. "You choose the path of cowardice. Do you truly wish to know why I was expelled from your noble 'Council'? Not principle nor law governed it—it was simple fear! You all recognized my strength!"
Across the expanse, tension swelled within the Council as Uragast's barbed words pierced through their arrogance.
"Presumptuous fool!" Kaelen bellowed, rage igniting in his black eyes. Without hesitation, he hurled a javelin comprised solely of divine power toward Uragast. But the blow was effortlessly deflected by the Archangel's sword, dispelling the attack.
Before the echoes of the parry faded, Kaelen vanished and materialized directly before Uragast, spear in hand. Purifying Divine Law energy crystallized around it; with a horizontal slash, he sought to split Uragast in two. The strike tore through space itself, a terrifying sound resonating across the nexus. Yet, Uragast responded. His blazing sword met the horrific arc of the spear with surprising ease, countering with skill born from years of combat training. Their divine powers collided, sending sparks erupting in a blinding explosion. A shockwave ripped through the fabric of reality, trembling the very dimension housing their confrontation.
In a whirlwind of energy, strikes flew back and forth between Uragast and Kaelen, as the specter of violence unfolded. Uragast pressed forward, intent on establishing his supremacy, eager for the Council to witness Kaelen's inferiority.
Suddenly, an arrow streaked through the chaos like a bolt of destiny, interrupting Uragast's focus and piercing the turbulence. Recognition lit his mind—an unmistakable arc and divine signature. Vina. Her arrow. His heart ached, recalling the bow he'd designed and crafted for her—a gift of love.
In that fleeting moment of emotional distraction, Kaelen seized his chance, exploiting Uragast's vulnerability. The spear struck true, plunging into the Archangel's shoulder, an eruption of Divine Law energy searing through him. A force exploded from the wound, hurling Uragast violently across the platform until he crashed against a distant celestial pillar with bone-rattling impact.
Before he could recover, Kaelen lunged forward, spear lifted for a finishing blow. Yet a translucent shield of divine energy sprang into existence just in time, protecting Uragast from the strike. Through its ethereal surface emerged six allies—Elara, Siris, Anya, Lyra, Faelan, and Rhys.
Kaelen's countenance soured at the arrival of this unexpected support, forcing him to retreat, wary of potential threats.
Among the newcomers, Rhys, Master of Veils, exchanged troubled glances with Lord Ocular, who stepped forward from his pillar. "You chose this side, brother. Make sure you do not come to regret it," Ocular warned, his tone cool and detached before stepping back into position, indicating he wouldn't engage in conflict against his brother.
As battle ignited across the platform, shifts in momentum became palpable, opposing forces colliding violently. Elara, the Shield of Resilience, faced the relentless fire power of The Crucible Ignis, her radiant barrier absorbing heavy blows threatening to shatter her form. Cracks began to etch across the barrier, like wounded flesh, under his persistent onslaught.
Siris, the Embodiment of Principle, stood unfaltering against Lord Malakor—a champion of twisted authority whose corrupting force threatened to overwhelm him. Anya, Bearer of Dawn, summoned waves of life-giving light, pushing back the shadows sewn by Lady Seraphina, a master of secrets whose veils obscured truth. Lyra, the Singer of Souls, attempted to weave a melody of cosmic harmony, confronting the absolute proclamations of The Herald Vox. Meanwhile, Faelan, Master of Elements, clashed against the formidable strength of Lord Terron, whose anchoring essence risked rooting him to inertia.
Even if wounded, Uragast remained formidable. Two lesser gods, hoping for glory against him, confronted him, emboldened perhaps by his injury or spurred by orders. Yet through brutal precision, Uragast dispatched them with swift, devastating strikes, effortlessly afflicting grievous wounds.
The Council gods observing from their pillars hesitated, knowing direct combat may churn unpredictable chaos within their grand strategy, fearful of ruining everything they had envisioned.
Seeing the tide of battle shift and sensing their plans unraveling before unforeseen variables, Lady Styx's expression morphed into cold calculation. Without uttering a word, she reached for the ancient black box resting on its altar. As she invoked her power, a shimmering gateway wrenched open, prepared to receive their critical key. In an instant, Uragast, focused solely on the portal's emergence, surged forward, channeling all his strength into reaching it.
But Kaelen remained vigilant. Having sensed Uragast's desperation, he intercepted with deadly speed. Directing his spear with ruthless efficiency, it plunged cruelly into Uragast's side, delivering a critical blow amidst the struggle for the Box.
Tragically, as the Aethelred Box slipped into the gateway and disappeared, the mission accomplished, Uragast reeled from his fresh wound—a burning void gaping within him. He collapsed onto the cold surface of the platform, flickering with fading light.
From above, Kaelen's chilling laugh resonated triumphantly throughout the chamber—victory tasted sweet upon the still air.
Through waves of excruciating pain, Uragast glanced upon chaos unfolding. Elara, Siris, Anya, Lyra, Faelan, Rhys—their forms crumbled under relentless assault by the Council's might. Defeat engulfed the battlefield, a sight heavier than any physical wound. Despair washed over him, extinguishing the fragile flame of hope nestled within his heart. He felt he had failed them all; failure weighed like a mountain.
For a fleeting instant, a memory lanced through him—the soft warmth of sunlight bathed upon his skin, unburdened laughter echoing from a verdant village green. The brightness felt a bitter contrast against the chill beneath him, amplifying the dull ache of loss. He had failed those fleeting, precious lives he sought to protect. Darkness engulfed him, leaving him to wonder if anyone remained to help him now.
A profound weakness settled over him—thicker than any physical blow. His limbs grew unresponsive; what once gleamed within dimmed with each passing heartbeat. The weight of failure burdened him, pinning him mercilessly against the cold marble floor.
His gaze, desperate and searching, swept across the shattered platform, past the forms of fallen allies and towering foes alike. It finally found her—Vina—still perched on the distant pedestal. Even from this vantage point of defeat, her presence was unmistakable. She merely stared back, her face devoid of emotion, her cold, unwavering gaze locking onto his. It was a stark contrast to the warmth they once shared. Memories flooded back to him—times he had been wounded, moments when she rushed to his side, kissed his injuries, and tended to his pain with gentle hands and soothing words. Her care had been a balm, a promise of solace. But now, there was only that chilling stare, reflecting the painful reality of her betrayal.
Suddenly, a figure loomed over him, casting a dark shadow. It was Kaelen, lashing out with brutal contempt. A vicious kick connected with Uragast's already broken ribs. Instinctively, he raised a hand, a weak attempt at a shield; yet his movements were sluggish, his divine energy sputtering. It wasn't enough. The impact jolted through him, intensifying his existing wounds—the searing rent in his shoulder, the void in his side—each felt as though it was worsening under an enchantment from the enemy gods. Kaelen didn't stop, unleashing a torrent of merciless kicks and punches against Uragast's heavy, unresponsive form. He felt pinned to the platform, unable to muster the strength to even writhe away.
Suspended in Kaelen's relentless grip, floating amidst the chaos, Uragast was forced to gaze outward. From this agonizing vantage point, he witnessed the devastating aftermath of his failed rebellion sprawled across the cracked surface below.
"My expulsion from the Council was meant to give you time to reflect—to choose to ally with me or continue as my enemy."
Struggling against the crushing grip, a strained whisper escaped him, punctuated by ragged breaths. "W-when the Creator learns... of all your plans... I will be the first to celebrate... with immense joy. I can already envision... your fate..."
Kaelen chuckled, a low, cold sound vibrating through Uragast. His grip tightened. "But what if I simply kill you here and now? I'll erase every trace. Do you really think that useless Creator will find out?" He dismissed Uragast's faith in their creator's awareness.
Struggling to resist, Uragast forced more words out, an indignant rasp: "Perhaps you forget... that the Creator is the most powerful of all... He created everything... including us gods... Do you think he's foolish?"
For a fleeting moment, a hint of fear flickered on Kaelen's face, his smile vanishing. Uragast's words stung. Frustrated, Kaelen hurled Uragast down onto the unyielding platform. A sickening snap echoed through the air as one of Uragast's wings twisted beneath him upon impact. Kaelen didn't hesitate, repeatedly kicking him. Each blow sent jolts of agony through Uragast, a fire spreading from his broken wing across his back and ribs. The air was driven from his lungs with brutal force. Yet even amidst the relentless pain, something unexpected bubbled up within him—a laugh, a ragged, gasping sound born more from suffering than joy.
At that moment, however, hope surged elsewhere. Elara, the Shield of Resilience, charged forward, positioning herself defiantly between the furious Kaelen and the fallen Uragast. She raised her radiant shield, channeling her resilience to intercept Kaelen's attention and force him to shift focus from his defeated foe. This desperate defiance bought precious seconds.
While Elara struggled against Kaelen, Faelan, Master of Elements, poured his energy into the air near Uragast, forming a shimmering tear in reality—a portal meant for escape. Simultaneously, Lyra, Singer of Souls, began to hum a strained melody, channeling restorative power toward Uragast, desperate to mend his critical wounds.
But the victorious Council members were not idle. Sensing the allies' coordinated efforts, they surged forward as one. Their combined might bore down on this fleeting chance for escape.
Seeing the overwhelming charge, Rhys, Master of Veils, moved with frantic urgency. He threw out his hands, weaving a complex pattern of shimmering energy—a veil of illusion intended to momentarily delay the charging gods. For an instant, the veil shimmered, distorting their forms... but only briefly. Their united power effortlessly tore through the fragile illusion. The Council pressed on, breaking through Rhys's shattering veil and pushing toward the opening portal.
Amidst pain and confusion from Kaelen's initial blows, Uragast beheld the chaotic tableau: Elara clashed with Kaelen, Faelan struggled to maintain the portal, Lyra weaved her song, and Rhys's veil disintegrated before the Council's relentless advance—a desperate race against time unfolding before him.
But then, across the platform, Vina narrowed her eyes. Observing her allies' coordinated effort, witnessing the portal begin to open and the brief opportunity Elara created, her hand instinctively reached for her bow—the very gift Uragast had crafted for her. From a nearby pillar, Warden of Doubt extended a hand, offering a single, dark arrow—a memory arrow. With cold resolve, Vina accepted it, infusing it quickly with her curse energy. As she drew the cursed arrow, her gaze met Uragast's across the chaos. He saw her cold determination, the dark energy coiling around his cherished gift, the unmistakable aim directed at him, solidifying the ultimate betrayal in that horrific moment.
Watching this horrific act unfold, Uragast's frustration boiled over into a roar, directed at the memory, the sky, and everything. "Vinaaa!" he bellowed. "You ungrateful wretch! I loved you with all my heart! I gave you everything—my effort, my time—but this is how you repay me?! I won't forgive you even in death!" His voice cracked, raw with pain, betrayal, and fury.
"Let me end your worthless life."
With that final, cutting statement, she released the arrow. It flew swiftly, a dark streak slicing through the dimension towards Uragast and the burgeoning portal. In that brief instant, horror unfolded around him. The shimmering tear Faelan desperately maintained began to waver and shrink—the portal closing. Even worse, Uragast's gaze followed the arrow's path, catching glimpses of his allies being overwhelmed, forms dissolving beneath the Council's relentless assault. He watched them fall, being killed despite their bravery. The sight shattered the remnants of his defiance, leaving him hollow just before impact.
As the Council gods closed in, and with the portal aperture snapping shut behind him, Uragast let instinct guide him. Propelled by his painful maneuver—or perhaps drawn by Faelan's failing gateway—he lunged or fell into the shimmering tear. The dark memory arrow, seemingly attached to his very essence, slipped through just behind him as the portal snapped shut in the faces of the charging Council.
He did not arrive instantly in a stable dimension. Instead, passing through Faelan's portal was a wrenching ordeal, accompanied by an immense, crushing force. He fell fast—not into the void beyond known realms but through the very sky of the Middle Realm. The air screamed past him, the familiar yet alien landscape of the monster realm rushing upwards. Below, the ground collided with him, and his broken form created a vast crater that sent shockwaves echoing across the land.
Lying in the center of the crater, gasping for breath, he felt the wind knocked out of him, the agony of the fall tremendous. Then came the final impact. The dark, cursed memory arrow, having trailed him through the portal and the fall, struck true, piercing his chest as he landed.
A quick, breathless gasp escaped Uragast—a strangled sound of pure agony. His broken body arched rigidly as if struck by lightning. A chilling numbness spread from the entry point, stealing away the pain of impact and replacing it with a cold, invasive corruption taking root. Dark veins began to snake across his skin from the wound, black tendrils stretching outward. At the center, where the dark memory arrow embedded itself, a thick, black smoke began to ooze, pulsing with malevolent energy.
Wracked by the invasive energy and struggling to move, Uragast bit down hard on his lip, tasting blood. With a desperate surge of will, he managed to raise himself slightly. He reached for his remaining wing—the one unshattered by the earlier fall. These wings had been a treasured gift from his late grandfather, bestowed upon him during his childhood—not just for flight, but containing a well of divine energy, a lingering power from his grandfather himself.
With grim determination, Uragast savagely tore free his remaining wing from his back, ignoring the searing pain. He crushed the severed appendage in his hand, forcing its divine energy to surface. Gathering glowing power, he smeared it onto the shaft and blade of the dark memory arrow embedded in his chest, hoping to suppress the deadly curse and buy himself time to think of a way to exorcise the malignancy before it took hold completely.
Far below, nestled within the bustling, magically shielded layers of a great city, a powerful citizen paused. Elder Valerius, renowned for his acute sensitivity to the world's subtler currents, was tending to his alchemical garden when the air shimmered. This was no mere local disturbance; it rippled from somewhere vast and high above. Looking up, he strained to see through the city's dome. A strange mix of dark, noxious energy and blindingly pure light flared in the upper atmosphere, pricking his ancient senses. More than mere visuals or energetic anomalies, Valerius felt an undeniable force—a weight in the cosmic fabric that felt unfamiliar yet potent. Eyes wide with awe and dread, he realized it was the unmistakable presence of a pure-blooded god—a sheer intensity he hadn't encountered in millennia. Something monumental had just occurred.
A knot of primal fear tightened in Elder Valerius's gut, a natural response to sensing power far beyond his own. Yet coiling alongside that fear was curiosity. Millennia had passed since such a signature graced their realm. What could have summoned it now? With resolute determination, he decided he must go to the source—not directly into the heart of whatever devastation had unfolded, not yet—but cautiously approach the area thrumming with that terrifying, magnificent power. He turned from his garden, hurrying to prepare for his journey.
Meanwhile, even through blinding agony and the invasive corruption spreading from the dark memory arrow, Uragast sensed presences drawing nearer. His heightened senses, though ravaged, picked up distinct power signatures closing in. Some belonged to monstrous beings of the Middle Realm, driven by base instincts or something more. He could almost hear their brutish minds calculating, sensing the disturbance, the raw energy flares. They would likely come seeking reward if they reached his location. A grimace tightened his jaw. Just what he needed—unwelcome, dangerous attention. Time was running short, not just because of the curse but also from new threats closing in.
Gathering his scattered will, Uragast forced a modicum of remaining divine power, drawing from hidden reserves. It was a painful sensation in his cursed state, but necessary. He needed to move—now. Using this burst of energy for a quick, agonizing flight, he launched himself upwards, leaving the site of his fall behind.
Minutes later, the first of the approaching intruders arrived—a hulking, multi-limbed beast sniffing the ground, followed by others. They discovered only the massive crater left by Uragast's fall, surrounding crumbling terrain still resonating with faint, confusing energy signatures. The pure, powerful presence they had felt was gone.
Uragast was already far away, a mere flicker against the horizon for senses sharper than theirs, desperately making his way toward the secret tear at the edge of the realm—his only hope of escaping the Middle Realm entirely.
This tear wasn't commonly known. Centuries ago, he had discovered it during one of his many expansive journeys. His passion for exploration had led him to the very fringes of the Middle Realm, pushing past known boundaries. Nestled among swirling cosmic debris and forgotten energy currents, he had found it—a barely perceptible secret tear, a fragile breach in the fabric separating this realm from... somewhere else. He never imagined he would need it, but the instinct of a seasoned explorer compelled him to mark its location—a hidden exit route saved for a day he hoped would never arrive. Back then, his mind had been filled with dreams of shared futures with Vina, not thoughts of desperate escapes. Now, cursed and broken, that forgotten discovery—unshared with the one he loved—was his only destination.
The space outside the realm's edge was not empty void; it constituted a churning, chaotic maelstrom. Here, the carefully ordered realities of realms broke down. Raw, unfiltered cosmic energies flared and dissipated without rhythm, creating sudden, violent storms of power capable of tearing lesser beings apart molecule by molecule. Spatial distortions twisted reality, pockets collapsing in on themselves or shearing away entirely, making navigation treacherous. Swirling fields of forgotten debris drifted like razor-sharp celestial shrapnel. There were no stable laws of physics—only constant, dangerous instability. It was a precarious wilderness of the cosmos, offering no safety or structure; a desperate refuge known only to the most daring explorers or those with nowhere else to turn.
Driven by desperation and the corrosive pain of the curse, Uragast reached the place where the air shimmered with contained power. His agonizing flight drained him to his core. Every inch of his body screamed, deep aches reverberating beneath the searing corruption. He landed heavily on a small, precarious outcropping of cosmic debris, nearly crumpling as his trembling limbs struggled to keep him upright. Cold, clammy sweat slicked his back and pooled at his temples.
With a groan borne of agony and grim resolve, he reached into his personal storage—a spatial fold accessible only to his will—and pulled forth Aethel-Threnos, the world once known as Aethel-Caris, crafted from memories of Vina. The weight felt monstrous now, agonizingly difficult to hold. Once, he remembered cradling its nascent cosmic heft with ease, as if it were a precious gem. Now, the dark memory arrow embedded in his chest sapped his divine energy, threatening to slip from his grasp.
Gasping, eyes half-lidded with pain, he scanned the intricate patterns etched into this space's fabric. Recognizing the formation instantly, he recalled erecting it long ago—a complex divine structure built precisely to contain the secret tear, sealing away the chaotic energies leaking from the dangerous void beyond. The formation was more than a seal; it was a vault designed to withstand immense cosmic pressure from within and without. He could still sense his own pure divine energy lingering within its intricate web—a stark reminder of a power strong enough to create this containment.
He wasn't here to break it; he was here to enter it for a different purpose.
Ignoring the crippling pain, he focused on the entrance of the formation, a seam in the divine energy visible only to him. Uragast forced his trembling body forward, stepping into the formation, into the heart of his own ancient power. Inside the protected space, his priority was safeguarding the world clutched precariously in his hand. It had to remain hidden, untouched by the forces pursuing him. From another compartment within his storage, he retrieved a small, intricate object—a concealment gifted long ago by Rhys. Focusing his will, he activated the enchantment, pouring the last of his concentrated divine energy into it. A shimmering veil, akin to heat radiating from a desert road, enveloped Aethel-Threnos as he placed it carefully within the core of the formation. The concealment settled around it, rendering the world invisible and undetectable by all but the most fundamental cosmic senses. Secure within a vault of his prime-era power, it was hidden from view.
With his remaining reserves of focused will, Uragast prepared for the final step. Utilizing the formation as a gateway, he sought to enter Aethel-Threnos itself. Exhausted from the combined efforts of the escape, wing sacrifice, curse suppression, and the struggle with both Aethel-Threnos and the formation, he staggered through the threshold. His body gave out, falling like a flaming meteor—one whose descent he had no power left to control.
Now safely in his own world, away from immediate external threats, a sense of arrival allowed tension to bleed from his muscles. For a fraction of a second, he relaxed his body. But that brief respite was swiftly replaced by waves of intense weakness and unbearable pain. The dark memory arrow pierced deeper, its malevolent energy flooding unchecked into his core as the barrier provided by the wing energy waned completely.
Urghast landed not on solid ground but on the sea of Aethel-Threnos, his impact marked by a bright flash and sound rippling across the water's surface. His battered body floated, settling into a semi-sitting position amid the waters. Agony seized him, but a new kind of grim determination ignited within him. He had to remove the arrow. Enduring the searing pain, he raised a trembling hand to his chest, gripped the shaft of the arrow, and with a guttural cry, ripped it out. It came free with a sickening wrench. Once detached from its active curse energy, the dark memory arrow became inert and harmless—a mere relic of malice. With vacant eyes, Uragast mindlessly discarded the arrow, sending it splashing into the sea some distance away. The curse, however, remained woven into his very being—its malicious influence fully absorbed.
As Uragast floated listlessly, a massive shape stirred beneath the waves. An ancient creature from the sea, drawn by the flash and sound of his landing, approached the surface, its ancient eyes fixing upon the figure afloat in the water. Yet as it drew nearer, it halted—a colossal form pausing just below the surface. From Uragast's body, where the dark memory had taken root, a thick, ink-like substance began to spread across the water's surface around him, staining the crystal-clear sea. The very wrongness of it—the palpable aura of corruption emanating from the god-like figure—struck primal fear into the beast. Without hesitation, it quickly turned and dived into the darkest depths of the ocean.
Above, the fabric of Aethel-Threnos reacted. The world, once a paradise, felt a seismic shift in its connection to its creator. Vitality began to wane, vibrant hues subtly dimming. The sky, moments before a glorious expanse, dulled into a perpetual twilight. Across every continent, embedded in forests, mountains, and ruins, monsters ceased their activities—hunting, resting, fighting. They paused, heads tilted, sensing the profound change tethered to their existence. For fleeting moments, they looked toward Uragast's direction—a silent acknowledgment of the shift in their foundational energy source. Then, just as abruptly, they resumed their actions, the eerie interlude passing like a forgotten dream.
Alone in the vast sea of his dimming world, the weight of everything crashed down upon Uragast. His mind swirled as emotions collided: betrayal by Vina, the cold victory of the Council, his failure to thwart Lady Lux's schemes, the agony of allies who died because of him during the failed rebellion, the corrupting reality of this curse consuming him, and the relentless pain ravaging his body. Overwhelmed, unable to bear the physical and mental burden, he instinctively curled inward, limbs drawing tight against him, becoming a defenseless, fetal shape adrift in his darkening, pain-filled world.
Time wore on—long stretches, maybe eons or mere centuries—becoming a meaningless concept in the cursed stasis of his existence. Aethel-Threnos, the world he had poured his heart into, twisted into a reflection of his suffering. Its monsters grew more ferocious, grotesque forms mirroring the corruption eating at their creator.
Uragast remained unmoving, a solitary broken figure adrift. The sea, once crystal clear and reflecting a boundless sky, darkened into a flat, pitch-black expanse; its waters had ceased to flow since his fateful landing. His physical wounds had mostly healed, scarred over by a divine resilience he barely commanded. But the curse remained intertwined with his being, a persistent, insidious fire. His divine power dwindled to a mere ember, engaged in a ceaseless conflict to prevent the corruption from consuming his heart and thoughts. Were he whole, that power would restore his body automatically. But now, it busied itself protecting those vital parts, an agonizing stalemate degrading with each passing day.
Uragast had long accepted defeat and weakness. The grand designs of the Upper Realm? Whatever transpired, whatever plans unfurled, he no longer cared. Close to death, he lay in that same position, a monument to failure, patiently waiting for his end. Yet amid this resignation lingered a morbid desire: before he perished, he wanted to witness the plight of mortals. He wished to behold the extent of the Council's destruction in the Lower Realm. In this self-punishment, he forced his soul to witness the devastation he had failed to forestall and the suffering of fleeting lives he aimed to protect.
Summoning a final, agonizing act of will, Uragast expelled a small measure of his remaining divine energy. It was sufficient. With a faint shimmer above his body, his soul manifested—an incorporeal echo of his former self. He would traverse the Lower Realm now, a ghostly observer. He cast a remorseful glance back at his physical form lying motionless in the dark sea before his spirit exited Aethel-Threnos, slipping through the unseen membrane into the wider cosmos.
Traveling via his soul was swift—a blink through existence. Upon entering Earth's atmosphere, the reality of the Council's victory struck him with brutal clarity. Monsters from the Middle Realm had unleashed chaos upon the earth; the human population had plummeted, reduced to scattered, desperate enclaves. Hideous, active portal gates dotted the continents—gaping wounds from which horror continued to pour.
With weary perception, Uragast scanned the devastation, desperate to assess the breadth of the Council's cruelty, the evidence of his failure. Amidst the ruin, his incorporeal gaze anchored on a single point—a figure advancing with purpose through the wreckage, a human resilient in defiance of despair. Unexpected intrigue ignited within his ancient soul—not just grim satisfaction at self-inflicted punishment, but a spark of curiosity. This mortal was not merely a victim; there existed a resonance about him, a faint, pure energy cutting through the surrounding turmoil in ways nothing else had. Behind all this chaos, he saw Dan. In that moment, the dying god's attention—cast wide in distress—narrowed solely upon this single human amidst ruin. Perhaps, against all odds, the long wait held an unexpected deviation.