A heavy mist blanketed the Valley of Eternal Echoes, casting long, sinister shadows that twisted and danced like specters across the jagged stones. The valley was ancient, untouched by time or mortal memory, and the air was thick with forgotten voices—echoes of souls long consumed by the void. As Kael strode forward, his black cloak billowing behind him, each step sent ripples through the silence, and even the darkness seemed to retreat in wary deference.
Beside him, Seraphina kept pace, her luminous silver hair barely catching what little light filtered through the veil of gloom. The twin blades at her side pulsed with celestial resonance, reacting to the cursed energy that saturated the valley. Her eyes, normally bright with divine fire, flickered with uncertainty.
"This place," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, "it's filled with suffering. I can hear them. The ones who never moved on."
Kael didn't answer immediately. His gaze was fixed forward, on the obsidian monolith that loomed at the valley's center—a relic of the Age of the Forgotten Gods. Runes writhed across its surface like living veins, pulsing in sync with Kael's presence. Only those marked by Death itself could approach without being consumed.
"That monolith," he finally said, his voice low and resonant, "is the gateway. The memories sealed within it are fragments of the Creator's truth. We need them. If we're to destroy Him, we must understand Him."
Seraphina nodded reluctantly. "And what lies within?"
Kael paused. "Madness."
The earth trembled faintly as they stepped closer. From the cragged ridges above, shadows peeled themselves from the stone, forming wraith-like sentinels. Each bore the form of someone long lost—Kael recognized a few. Friends. Enemies. Past versions of himself. They hissed unintelligibly, forming a barrier of torment.
Kael raised his hand. From the tip of his finger, a sigil burned into existence—a mark of authority that silenced the spirits. They howled in pain and scattered into mist, their false bodies dissolving. Seraphina gripped her blades tighter.
"You command even the restless dead," she said, not without awe.
"They are part of me now," Kael replied. "Death obeys its master."
They reached the base of the monolith. Kael placed his palm against the ancient stone. It was cold, impossibly so. The runes responded, flaring with crimson light as if recognizing their kin. The sky above cracked with thunder, though no storm was present. The monolith began to hum, then vibrate, and finally a sliver of darkness opened like an eye, revealing a portal within.
"Stay behind me," Kael warned. "What we see inside might not be real, but it will feel real."
Together, they stepped into the monolith.
In an instant, the world shifted.
They stood on a vast plain of stars, a void-space outside the bounds of mortal comprehension. Suspended in the nothingness were fragments of reality—scenes from the ancient past. The beginning of the world. The birth of gods. The first wars. And there, at the center of it all, stood the Creator.
He was not how Kael remembered.
The figure before them was radiant, clothed in cosmic fire, eyes like twin galaxies. He wept as he shaped worlds, as if burdened by every life he created. Seraphina stepped closer, entranced.
"He... was beautiful," she said.
Kael clenched his fists. "He was a lie."
The scene shifted. Now they saw the Creator among mortals, hiding his divinity, playing god and hero and monster by turns. His experiments twisted humanity. His love broke empires. His wrath razed cities. The weight of his perfection demanded imperfection in return.
"He toyed with us," Kael growled. "Every hero chosen, every villain cursed—a story He wrote for His own amusement."
Then came the final memory.
A small child, weeping in a field of white lilies.
It was Kael.
"He abandoned me," Kael whispered, voice hollow. "He gave me everything, then took it all. Made me Death. Made me watch."
Seraphina reached for his hand. "You're not that child anymore."
"No. I am the end."
The visions began to collapse, the void trembling as a voice—His voice—rippled through the cosmos.
"You cannot kill what made you, Kael."
Kael turned toward the sound, his eyes aflame with fury. "Then I will unmake myself just to undo you."
The world shattered.
They were ejected from the monolith, landing harshly on the valley floor. Seraphina coughed, blood trailing from her lips.
"It tried to reject us," she rasped.
Kael stood slowly. "But it failed. We saw the truth. Now... we weaponize it."
From the monolith, a shard had broken free—a crystalline fragment of the Creator's memory, pulsing with raw divine power. Kael reached down and lifted it. It burned his palm but he did not flinch.
"With this," he said, eyes narrowing, "we will carve the path to the Divine Throne. And end Him."
Far above them, the sky twisted, and unseen eyes watched.
The final war had begun.
A deafening silence consumed the space beyond the celestial bridge. The divine light from the Gates of Origin shimmered like a living entity, pulsing with a rhythm that seemed to echo through the souls of those who dared approach it. Eirik's hand trembled slightly, not from fear, but from the weight of purpose. Behind him stood Valen, Seraphina, Askar, and the others who had survived the last divine trial. Their bodies were scarred, armor cracked, but their resolve had never been more solid.
The gates were unlike anything Eirik had imagined. Taller than mountains, forged from fragments of time and light, they held the whispers of creation and destruction within their curves. But they weren't just doors—they were sentient, alive with cosmic judgment.
"It's watching us," Seraphina whispered, her voice barely audible. "The gate… it knows who we are."
Eirik nodded. "It recognizes what I've become."
Just then, the ground beneath them cracked with a sudden tremor. A rift opened near the edge of the platform, swirling with shadowy energy. From it emerged a figure cloaked in shifting void, his presence freezing the very air.
"Altherion…" Askar muttered. "The Herald of the Creator."
The being's face was a mask of divinity and void, eyes like eclipses. "You have come too far, Death Incarnate," he said, addressing Eirik directly. "Your defiance has unbalanced the realms. The Creator demands restitution."
Eirik stepped forward, summoning the Scythe of Endings. "And I demand justice—for the lives you puppeteered, the worlds you toyed with, and for the betrayal that forged me."
Altherion's hand twitched, summoning a blade forged of collapsed stars. "Then speak your vengeance through battle."
The air exploded as the two clashed. Light and shadow intertwined, tearing through the sky like divine storms. Eirik's scythe sang with fury, each swing a scream of rebellion. Altherion moved like a cosmic tide, his every strike a lesson in destruction.
Behind them, the others fought to hold off the divine constructs pouring from the rift—warriors of starlight and flame, forged by the Creator to stop interlopers.
Valen unleashed bolts of soulfire, incinerating enemies in arcs of violet flame. Seraphina sang her celestial hymn, each note strengthening her allies and tearing through enemy auras. Askar fought with raw brutality, breaking limbs and armor with gauntleted fists glowing with chaos runes.
But the tide was endless.
"Eirik!" Seraphina shouted, dodging a divine glaive. "We can't hold them forever!"
Eirik locked weapons with Altherion, face to face, gritted teeth. "Then I end this—now!"
Drawing deep from his essence, Eirik activated the core of his death magic—Annihilation Pulse. A black sphere of condensed entropy formed between his hands, swirling with the grief and wrath of countless lifetimes. He shoved it into Altherion's chest.
The Herald roared, his form destabilizing. "You… would challenge the divine order?"
"I am Death. I am the End of Orders!"
The sphere detonated.
The resulting blast ripped through the battlefield. The divine constructs froze, crumbled, and disintegrated into light. The rift collapsed violently, sealing with a scream. When the smoke cleared, Eirik stood barely upright, panting, the Scythe embedded in the broken platform beside him.
Altherion lay shattered at his feet, his cosmic armor fractured, his body flickering in and out of existence.
"You… have undone… eons of balance," the Herald rasped. "The Creator… will not forgive…"
Eirik leaned down, meeting his fading gaze. "I don't want forgiveness. I want the truth."
Altherion's final breath escaped in a whisper. "Then enter… and see."
With that, the Herald dissolved into stardust.
The battlefield was quiet again.
The group gathered, battered and bloodied, standing before the now-glowing Gates of Origin. The doors, having accepted Eirik's dominance, began to part slowly with a sound like ancient trees splitting under divine thunder.
A rush of energy surged out, not violent, but vast—like a thousand lives rushing through their memories all at once. Everyone stepped back instinctively, but Eirik held his ground.
"What's on the other side?" Valen asked.
"Truth," Eirik replied. "And maybe something worse."
The inside was a kaleidoscope of infinite layers—memories of creation, echoes of the first spark, the birth of the Creator's will. It wasn't a place. It was every place, every moment, every possibility.
Stepping in, the realm shifted to match Eirik's soul. The surroundings morphed into his memories—the day he was reborn as Death, the fall of kingdoms, the betrayal of the Divine Guardians, and the moment he saw humanity shattered by gods' whim.
But one vision stood still—a chamber where a being of infinite light sat upon a throne of time. The Creator.
He had no face, only the reflection of those who looked upon him.
"You have returned, fragment of my will," the voice echoed.
"I am no longer your fragment," Eirik growled. "I am your reckoning."
The Creator gestured calmly. "You seek vengeance. But do you understand the origin of that pain?"
Eirik clenched his fists. "You controlled everything. Every war. Every life. You chose who suffered."
"No," the Creator said, rising. "I gave you the ability to choose. And your choices led you here."
Eirik's voice shook with rage. "Then why create us at all?"
"Because even I… wanted to understand what it meant to feel powerless."
That answer struck like a blade through bone. The Creator—supreme, infinite—had created the world not to rule, but to experience weakness?
"You made us suffer for that?" Eirik said through clenched teeth.
"I allowed free will. What you became… was your choice."
Eirik raised his hand, summoning the scythe once more. "Then I choose to end you."
The Creator did not resist. "Then come. Let us see if Death can kill the Origin."