The void trembled — not in fear, but in anticipation.
Ash floated above the remnants of the shattered void battlefield, his eyes fixed on the stars that had blinked into existence. They were not stars — they were seals, holding within them the consciousness of the Twelve Old Ones: forgotten beings, each embodying an aspect of uncreation.
One by one, the stars cracked.
From the first fell Kaag'Zuran, the Old One of Conceptual Rot — whose breath withered not just flesh, but ideas. Languages forgotten, emotions erased, hopes unravelled — that was its domain.
From the second descended Thya'Reth, the Old One of Echoes, who fed on the shadows of every decision never made. His form twisted and mirrored those who saw him, mocking the paths not chosen.
And then…
Twelve beings stood across the horizonless void — forming the Council of Extinction.
Ash narrowed his gaze. He recognized them all.
Xesh'Tama – The Old One of Time Rewind, destroyer of progress.
Vulgraan – The Harbinger of Null, who could erase gods with a whisper.
Ni'Syr'Vel – The Weaver of Dead Stars.
And at the center… a throne of living obsidian upon which sat Yaatra, the First Thought, the oldest and most cunning of the Old Ones.
Yaatra leaned forward, eyes like still pools of midnight.
> "You have grown… Ash the Defier. We remember when you were no more than a flickering thought between destinies. Now you dare to kill one of us?"
Ash stepped forward, the universe bending slightly beneath his feet.
"I didn't kill. I ended what should never have existed."
Yaatra's smile never reached its eyes.
> "You forget your origin, child. You were born from us. A mistake perhaps… but still ours."
Akarshan raised his spear. "Ash doesn't belong to any of you!"
The Twelve Old Ones didn't flinch. Their existence was beyond threat — beyond fear.
But then… a tremor.
Ash's body began to emit pulses of raw chronological energy — strands of forgotten timelines wove around him. His voice echoed in past, present, and future simultaneously.
"I was born from you… but I became something greater. I made life. I made love. I made gods who can cry. I chose creation over control."
Yaatra stood now. The void rippled.
> "Then show us. Show us what creation is worth. Let this be the final war, Ash."
He raised his hand — and with it, the Erasure Tide began to form — a wave of pure oblivion that could unmake entire realities.
Ash turned to his companions.
"This is it. We're not fighting for a world anymore. We're fighting for the right to exist."
Sarina gripped her bow. "Then let's make our existence louder than their silence."
And so began the preparation for the final conflict — not just of mortals and gods, but of ideals.
Creation versus Erasure.
Hope versus Nothing.
Ash versus the Twelve.
The Council of Extinction had risen — and the final Epoch War had begun.
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