The world held its breath.
The Eater of Worlds loomed tall, devouring light, space, and time with every pulse of its being. Its voice echoed across realms—louder than thunder, older than creation itself.
And yet…
Gabriel stood unmoved.
His cloak torn, body bloodied, but his eyes? Unshaken. No fear. No retreat. The tatum in his hand had dimmed, ignored. He didn't need it. Not anymore.
"I am not calling for help," Gabriel said coldly, his voice carrying across the Cradle of Echoes. "Because for the first time… I remember who I am."
The sky cracked.
A great silence followed, unnatural, as if the universe paused to witness.
And then, from Gabriel's chest, a light exploded.
A shockwave rippled across all known and unknown realms—piercing Olympus, rattling the gates of Heaven, shaking the underworld, and even splintering the throne of the Fallen. Every being of divine origin felt it.
Some fell to one knee in reverence.
Others screamed in horror.
Lucifer, standing alone atop his obsidian spire, clenched his jaw. His pride burned hotter than the sun, but even he, the First to Fall, could not resist the call of the old magic… the mark.
A mark now burned into Gabriel's flesh across his back—glowing like liquid gold, a symbol no god had seen in millennia. A sigil of origin.
The Seal of the First Flame.
The mark of the Heir to the Ruler of All Gods.
Gabriel rose from the cracked earth, fire swirling around him like wings of a celestial phoenix. His aura stretched into the skies, breaking the clouds, shifting the constellations.
He looked at the Eater of Worlds, and for the first time, it took a step back.
"You asked for a god," Gabriel said, his voice layered with something… ancient.
"I'll give you one."
He launched.
Faster than light. Harder than any force known. He tore through the Eater's form, cutting through dimensions with a roar. Flames of divine white and violet burst from his fists as he struck the void-born beast again and again—each blow rewriting the air itself.
The gods watched from their thrones.
Angels dropped their weapons.
Merlin, far below, whispered through trembling lips, "By the stars… he's not just channeling power. He is power."
In a final crescendo of fury, Gabriel summoned the fire from the depths of his soul and formed it into a sword—not forged of steel, but of sheer destiny. It gleamed with every soul the gods had ever blessed… and every world they had ever doomed.
He raised it above his head.
And brought it down.
The Cradle exploded in light. Not destruction—purification. The darkness of the Eater was not shattered.
It was unmade.
When the light faded, Gabriel stood alone in the silent ruins, his tattoo burning bright, his body steaming from raw power.
All was still.
Then, one by one… figures began to descend.
Zeus. Atlas. Poseidon. Gabriel felt their eyes on him, full of awe and fear. They didn't speak.
They knelt.
Heaven opened. Michael and the Heavenly Legion came forth.
They knelt.
Even the sky turned blood-red as the shadows parted… and Lucifer himself, silent, furious, trembling—not with fear, but the truth—stood before Gabriel.
He locked eyes with the boy.
And knelt.
But his heart burned. "You are not my king," he whispered, teeth clenched. "But the world will kneel… until I find a way to burn it all again."
Gabriel didn't answer. He simply looked to the stars, the tattoo still glowing across his back.
The heavens had been shaken.
A new god had risen.
But not just any god.
The Successor.
And he had only just begun.