There was no light. No matter how far he stretched his gaze, the abyss swallowed everything. The horizon, if any could call it that, was a mixture of the swirling, suffocating darkness. This wasn't just absence; it was a presence, a perfect dark, a mystery with a heartbeat.
A chuckle escaped the being. It started small, as a tremor of disbelief, then grew, morphed even, until it ripped through the void as a maniacal laugh. Victory's anthem it felt like, yet it was anything but. He had lost. Utterly, irrevocably lost.
But the mocking laughter wasn't the only sound that disturbed the eternal night. A rhythmic counterpoint pulsed in the darkness - the steady drip of his own blood, each drop a deafening beat of failure, a brutal accompaniment to his tormentor's glee.
He never bled. Not before. Who could draw crimson from such an entity? Yet, today, the sky was a canvas that seemed painted with his own essence, reflecting the blood staining his form. His gaze, heavy with defeat, drifted to the self-proclaimed "bastard tribunal" he'd scorned for so long.
"To think you could be brought to this, Moros," a dark entity spat, sat on a jagged obsidian crag overlooking the fallen titan. A predator savoring its kill, a viper dripping venom.
"You've truly outdone yourselves, resorting to calling an ancient when all of you proved too useless," the being coughed up more blood with his words.
"Your words hold no weight now; you're the one losing your existence, the one defeated," another voice retorted from the shadows.
"You're all fools, simple-minded fools. I should have eradicated all of you eons ago, sparing my journey from such a minor setback," the being's words dripped with disdain and regret.
A ripple of amusement passed through the darkness. "Minor? You call this a setback? Tell me, Moros, what treasures did your search yield? Where did your hunger for knowledge lead you? To complete oblivion, it seems."
Moros's eyes misted over, a strange, wistful light flickering within it. "The universe whispers secrets," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "In the rustle of leaves, the silence of dying stars. Listen closely, and you might just hear them too, feel the hunger for answers claw at your souls."
One of the figures stepped forward, its voice a harsh rasp. "All I hear is your death rattle, old one. And all I hunger for is your end."
A smile, tinged with madness, split the being's face. "Perhaps that is to be expected," he chuckled, a dry, brittle sound. "After all, you were always destined to be nothing more than... dust."
His eyes, previously dim bulbs, lit with sudden brilliance, burning with the intensity of a thousand suns. The darkness relapsed, the fabric of the void trembling under the expanse of light. A light born of a universe consumed, a light that burnt of forgotten secrets and ancient knowledge.
Then, with a deafening crack, the light imploded, leaving behind nothing but an empty husk and a chilling echo of the being's final words: "I'll be back. For your lives."
A God's promise.