"Did I fucking die again?" I muttered into the void, my voice echoing in the unending black.
Nothing answered. No sound. No sensation. Just the blackness stretching on forever, swallowing everything. Was that freaking core poisoned or something? I thought back to that last moment—the flesh of the beast, the searing energy as I devoured it, and then… nothing.
Just this.
Complete darkness.
Unending silence.
No sight. No feeling. Nothing existed beyond this place. I was suspended in an eternity of nothingness, where every attempt to sense or feel was swallowed whole, rendered meaningless.
But then, something shifted. A faint light pierced the void, expanding until it consumed everything. My senses returned in a rush, but they were different—heightened, stretched, and distorted. It was as if I existed both within and outside myself. I watched, and I was watched. I felt, and I was felt. My consciousness split, fractured, and merged again. And then I saw it.
The earth was boundless, a vast, all-encompassing presence, its breath heavy, its spirit unyielding. The sky was infinite, a deep and distant veil that stretched over everything, its gaze distant, alien. Together, they wove existence, a dance of creation that birthed titans. They were colossal beings of raw power, born from the union of the earth and the sky, their forms mountainous and terrible, their eyes blazing with life's fire.
The earth loved them—her first children. She cradled them in her valleys, nurtured them with her forests, and shielded them with her mountains. They were her pride, her greatest creations, the embodiment of her boundless strength. And for a time, all was still. The earth and sky, locked in their eternal embrace, watched over their children with a quiet, unspoken love.
But then came the small things. Pitiful, crawling creatures born not from the earth's desire but from some twisted ambition of the sky. They called themselves gods. And though they were small, they wielded power. The earth felt the corruption, sensed the poison. The gods were unnatural, like a parasite gnawing at her roots.
War was inevitable. The small things grew bold, seeking dominion over the titans, the earth's true children. They tore at them with lightning, with flame, with curses that split the skies and shattered mountains. The earth, furious and grieving, rumbled in anger. She wrapped her arms around her children, calling upon the forests, the oceans, and the mountains to rise against the intruders. Her children fought back, their roars shaking the heavens, their might unmatched.
But the sky betrayed her. It cast down bolts of searing light, siding with the usurpers. It turned its back on its firstborn, aiding the gods as they tore the titans from their thrones. The earth's children fell, one by one, their forms broken, their divinity ripped from flesh. She screamed in anguish, her cries echoing through the cosmos. Her grief became fury, and her fury became resolve.
The earth consumed her fallen children, drawing their power back into herself. She swelled with strength, her mountains rising higher, her forests growing thicker, her oceans boiling with rage. She fought, wielding the very essence of the world as a weapon. Armies formed from her soil, her stones, her trees. They surged forth, tearing at the sky and the gods alike, a relentless tide of vengeance. The earth tore at the traitorous sky, ripping it apart in a storm of wrath and fury.
But it wasn't enough. The gods were many, and though they could not defeat her, they found a way to contain her. They worked together, using her own flesh against her. They tore strips from her body, fashioned chains from her very bones, and wrapped them around her. They sealed her beneath her own mountains, bound her with her own roots, and strangled her with her own veins.
The earth roared in defiance, her rage unending. But the gods were unyielding. Her strength became her prison. Her power, her torment.
And so, the earth lay bound. Not defeated—never that—but trapped, forced into a slumber that spanned ages. Time passed, and with every second, her anger simmered, her power built. For centuries, she thrashed and raged, her fury like a smoldering ember that refused to die. And then, with time, the bindings grew frail. The earth felt it, the slow decay, the erosion of the chains that once held her fast.
The mountains shifted. The roots that strangled her pulled away, their strength fading. The fissures spread, cracks forming in the earth's prison. It was slow, a whisper of inevitability. Time crumbled everything. The sky, the gods, even the chains that bound her. She could feel it—freedom, inching closer, the promise of vengeance lingering just out of reach.
The ripples of fate converged, threads intertwining, pulling tighter, pulling closer. The time was near. The day the earth had waited for, the day the sky would shatter, the day the gods would burn. No interference would be tolerated. No half-born demigod would stand in her way.
Behave yourself, demigod.
The words weren't spoken, but they thrummed through me, a warning, a promise. I felt the earth's will pressing down on me, her presence overwhelming, as if her very gaze pinned me to the ground. I knew—somehow, I knew—that she was speaking to me. And that she meant every word.
.
.
.
.
I gasped as I shot back into myself, the cavern floor hard beneath me. Pain exploded through my skull, and I clutched my head, the memories, the visions, clawing at the edges of my mind. It felt like my soul was being ripped apart, pulled back into a shape it didn't want to take. My chest burned, and I felt… scratches. Invisible, barely there, but each one seared like fire. They etched a message onto my very soul.
When the time comes, you will die.
The words burned, branded into me. I felt them deep, like a curse, like a prophecy. But as the pain faded, a strange calm took over. My lips curled into a grin, wide, manic. The laugh started low, then grew louder, echoing off the walls, unhinged.
"We'll see about that."