The Crimson Eclipse bathed the world in a hellish glow, its pulsating center a gateway to annihilation—or rebirth. As the veil between realms thinned, rifts tore through the skies, leaking creatures of shadow and flame into the mortal plane. Chaos reigned. Kingdoms burned. Oceans boiled. The very fabric of existence trembled.
And in the eye of the storm stood Alaric.
His cloak was torn, his armor cracked, but his eyes gleamed with unshakable determination. The Archon's Mark pulsed on his chest, resonating with the energy bleeding from the rifts. Around him, allies gathered: Seraphine, her wings scorched but still strong; Kael, blade coated in the blood of fiends; Elira, weaving stabilizing runes into the ground beneath them; and most unexpectedly—Vaelion, the former Veilbearer, now fully redeemed and reforged as a protector of realms.
"You all feel it too," Alaric said. "This isn't just a tear in reality—it's a summoning. Someone is pulling something through."
Seraphine nodded grimly. "And it's not from this world. It's ancient... older than even the gods."
From the sky, the rift yawned wider, revealing a monstrous silhouette. A titan of void and flame, with a face that was more concept than flesh. It had no eyes—only burning pits of hunger. This was the Eidolon of Ends, a forgotten entity exiled before the birth of time. Its arrival would mean oblivion for all planes.
Elira's voice cracked as she read the energy signatures. "Its presence alone is collapsing ley-lines. Magic is becoming unstable. If it fully crosses over... nothing will survive."
Alaric stepped forward, the Archon's energy rising around him like a storm. "Then we stop it. Now."
Vaelion raised his staff, its crystal core now a beacon of light instead of shadow. "I owe this world a debt I cannot repay. Let me anchor the gateway. You lead the strike."
"No," Alaric said, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "You're not alone in this anymore. We do this together."
Kael grinned, despite the tension. "Well then, shall we commit the most heroic act of collective suicide history has ever seen?"
With a chorus of battle cries and incantations, they launched themselves into the air—directly into the heart of the rift.
Inside was a realm of pure entropy. Gravity twisted, thoughts echoed as sound, and time pulsed like a wounded beast. The Eidolon loomed, larger than mountains, yet disturbingly near. It turned toward them, and reality convulsed.
But Alaric did not falter.
Drawing upon the full might of the Archon's inheritance, he flared with divine brilliance. His sword extended into a beam of pure intent—Oblivion's Edge—forged to sever fate itself.
"NOW!" he shouted.
Seraphine and Kael struck at the limbs of the Eidolon, while Elira and Vaelion weaved a lattice of stabilizing wards to contain the realm's collapse. Alaric soared toward the core of the entity—its exposed heart of starlight and void.
In a flash of light and soundless thunder, he plunged Oblivion's Edge deep into the core.
The Eidolon screamed—not audibly, but within the soul of all living things. Its death knell echoed across every plane, a sound like the ending of stories.
And then, silence.
The realm folded in on itself. The Crimson Eclipse dimmed. The rifts sealed. And the world exhaled.
They had done it.
But as the dust settled, Alaric fell to one knee, the power within him flickering dangerously.
Seraphine caught him before he collapsed entirely. "You didn't die. That's a first."
He smirked. "There's still time."
As they limped back through the dissipating rift, victorious but not unscathed, none of them noticed the faint shimmer left behind—an ember, buried in the void.
Waiting.