A tremor ran through the empire—not of earth, but of reality itself.
The sky split apart like the pages of a forbidden tome torn open by unseen hands. Light fractured. Time stilled. The very air grew thick with a force that pressed upon all creation, an oppressive weight that turned kings into beggars and warriors into trembling children.
Upon the highest balcony of the Imperial Palace, Kael Arden stood—unmoving, untouched, unshaken.
His crimson cloak billowed in the chaos, the storm of reality's unraveling bending around him like a servant bowing to its master. Below, the capital city knelt—not in loyalty, but in fear. Heads bowed. Prayers whispered. Hope drained.
The gods had come.
Seven celestial figures descended from the rent heavens, their forms shifting between radiant divinity and gleaming armor. They did not step—they manifested, their presence a decree of cosmic law.
The Archons—keepers of order, arbiters of fate, watchers of all that dared rise beyond its station.
At their center, cloaked in light so intense it singed the eye, hovered Astrael, Archon of Order. His silver eyes, colder than the void between stars, pierced through the veil of mortal arrogance.
"Kael of the Black Sun," he intoned, voice layered in a thousand echoes, "your ascension has shattered the balance. You tread where no mortal dares. You have been judged."
A hush fell over the Empire.
The Archons had not descended in millennia. Even the most ancient tomes held only fragments of their presence. Their appearance was not omen—but end.
But Kael… smiled.
He took a single step forward. The marble beneath his boot cracked—not from motion, but from resistance. Reality itself sought to deny him.
"Judged?" Kael echoed softly, amusement in every syllable. He tilted his head, golden eyes gleaming not with reverence—but curiosity.
The Archons tensed. The mortals below trembled.
Only Kael stood, as if divine judgment were a passing breeze.
"And tell me, Astrael… who gave you the right?"
The sky pulsed. The clouds stilled. Even time hesitated.
Astrael's grip on his golden spear tightened. "We are the architects of balance. Without us, chaos—"
"—Would set mortals free," Kael interrupted, voice calm, blade-sharp. "Balance? No. You are gaolers. You wrap your chains in gold and call it law. But I see through it."
He stepped again. The heavens recoiled.
"You feared that someone might rise without your blessing. You feared me."
Astrael's expression cracked, just slightly. The first tremor of hesitation.
And Kael saw it.
"I reject your judgment. And your authority."
A hum, low and primal, echoed across the city. Reality itself stirred—something old, something deep. The stars blinked, as if watching.
Astrael raised his hand. The sky answered.
Golden sigils flared across the heavens, binding laws of existence into luminous chains.
Then came the strike.
A divine lance of pure celestial decree, faster than thought, impossible to dodge, destined to erase not just Kael—but the idea of him.
It fell.
But Kael did not move.
The space behind him tore.
From the wound, darkness deeper than death poured forth. It was not shadow—it was absence. A hunger that devoured even the notion of light.
And then, she stepped through.
The Queen of the Abyss.
She moved with grace that mocked gods, clad in obsidian silks that writhed with living shadows. Her eyes—bloody crimson—locked instantly onto Kael, glowing with obsession, possession, and something older than time.
With two fingers, she caught the divine spear.
The world stopped.
Golden power twisted violently in her grasp, thrashing, defiant. But she smiled—gently, indulgently—before flicking her wrist.
It shattered.
The sky wept golden shards, which burned out before touching the earth.
Astrael took a step back.
And Kael… smiled.
The Queen of the Abyss laughed softly, her voice velvet and venom.
"Still so eager to play god, Astrael? Haven't you learned yet?"
Astrael's voice was cold, but beneath it—fear. "You do not belong in the mortal plane, Demon Queen."
She stepped beside Kael, her hand brushing his shoulder. Not for support.
For claim.
"And yet here I stand," she whispered, eyes never leaving him. "He calls, I answer."
Kael's voice rang clear.
"Even gods tremble before inevitability."
Astrael's silver gaze locked with his. "You overestimate your existence."
Kael's smile sharpened into something terrible and true.
"And you… underestimate ambition."
Above, the heavens screamed. Below, the shadows writhed. The gods had struck the first blow.
And the war for reality had begun.
To Be Continued…