**Dark World, Gaia(Earth), [30°N 53°E, 20°W 10°S],**
**Armageddon 72 BC.**
Evil—the most corrosive word given to an entity or energy.
It is said that when one turns evil, they commit outrageous acts.
Acts to find satisfaction or simply to feel good.
Villainous, wicked, heartless—I was called all these things.
The term 'evil' is for amateurs.
I am the true embodiment of wickedness and beyond;
I am death itself.
...
The night was cold and eerie, the chilling harsh wind crashing against the skin of anyone who stood before it.
The sky glittered, becoming a silent spectator to the bloodshed that spread across the earth's surface.
The clashing of blades echoed as piled-up bodies painted the earth in the dark colors of crimson red.
The corpses shattered on the battlefield were mostly not human; one could tell simply from their beastly shapes.
A man knelt amidst the massacre that would give anyone nightmares, his face blank of emotion.
His body was bathed in the red blood of his enemies, and the sword he held could tell tales of how many lives it had taken.
He was clad in armor fit for a king, thick steel with intense durability, a sword beautifully designed with engravings, and he possessed long, crude oil-colored hair.
The face of this figure was not entirely human; his razor-sharp teeth, glowing red eyes, and dragon-like wings attached to his back made that clear.
In fact, the armor he wore was made of dragon skin, almost impenetrable.
However, this logic was shattered when one saw the large hole on the side of his chest, the size of an adult's fist.
The hole went straight through him; one could practically see the other side of the battlefield.
Blood gushed out like an unstoppable waterfall, yet it left no trace of pain or fear in the man's solemn eyes.
"What a beautiful sight to behold. Like a work of art, the grounds are decorated beautifully. The smell of blood just enhances its beauty," He smirked as he stared forward.
"Don't you bastards agree?!"
"The bastard's still not dead, what's he made of?" someone said, armed with battle gear.
They stared at the man who knelt on one knee, still breathing despite the devastating hole in his chest that had taken out his heart.
"Even without a heart, he still lives. He's truly heartless," another armored warrior voiced their thoughts.
The one who knelt before them, after a long battle that cost them the lives of thousands, was finally brought down.
Only six remained of the hundreds of thousands of demigods and champions who lost their lives to bring down this foe.
The being feared across the lands for his cruelty and ruthlessness—his army might have numbered only a thousand, but it had conquered kingdoms.
The mention of his name sent shivers down people's spines.
He was known as the Lord of Darkness, the Undying God, the Bringer of Destruction.
The Dark Emperor, Azrael Nekros.
"Hahaha, you amateurish demigods are ants to a god like me!!" Azrael shouted, his voice booming and shaking the earth as cracks appeared beneath the demigods' feet.
Azrael spread his large wings, spanning about eight feet. He flapped them slowly, hovering off the ground.
Looking down on the remaining demigods, his sword illuminated with a dense blue aura, gathering energy from the corpses to power up.
When the sword glittered intensely, Azrael unleashed a devastating strike that shattered the very air barrier, almost rupturing space.
He was the God of Darkness, the one who killed Satan and took his throne. His powers were not to be underestimated.
As destructive as it looked, it annihilated the demigods, erasing them from existence.
Not even their particles remained, much less their blood.
The earth itself was torn apart as magma covered the landscape.
"Sheesh," he flinched slightly, taking hold of his chest. "Light energy was used in all their attacks. They must be followers of the Spectrum Gods."
Darkness had a weakness: Light.
Azrael admired his work as he spoke. "The Supreme Gods want me dead for killing Satan and disrupting the balance of good and evil. What bastards..."
The clean sound of a blade passing through flesh was heard, followed by a satisfying chuckle.
"Hmm, you ruptured the balance of the gods and demons. You killed gods like yourself to satisfy your pleasures and power. You sicken me," a voice said behind Azrael.
It was the voice of someone familiar: Zeus, the God-King.
"You...!!" Azrael spoke through his pain, as blood ran down the side of his mouth.
The sword used against him glimmered white, covered with light energy.
"I love it when I see the pain in your eyes, knowing you can't do anything, weak. Your head will be a pleasant gift to the Supreme Gods," Zeus said, grinning.
Azrael and his demons had caused him great pain, massacring his followers and killing his family in the process to conquer the celestial kingdoms.
A god without any followers has their title stripped away, which is a disgrace.
"Hehehe, I see," Azrael's pained expression took a 180-degree turn. "You know very well that in war, casualties are inevitable, don't you?"
"I am a god-slayer who wants to teach you gods that you're not always superior. I want fear to creep into your so-called mighty hearts, to make you feel pain, regret, and ruin. That's my purpose!"
Azrael suddenly burst out with black lightning around his body and swiftly punched Zeus across the face, sending him crashing to the earth.
There was no concern for whether the sword inflicted any more substantial damage.
It was a crime to kill another without valid reason, but Azrael had done that and more.
He hated the sight of gods—they looked down on the weak and used them.
Whether among themselves or with others, they didn't care.
They solely strived for followers to increase their power.
"Azrael!!! You're dead!!" Zeus shouted as he shot off the ground with tremendous power, shattering the earth beneath him.
The sky darkened as yellow lightning struck the surroundings, destroying anything in its path.
In an instant, Zeus gathered momentum and speared Azrael through the sky, slamming him into the ground.
The impact created a massive crater, leaving the earth crumbling.
A huge dust cloud swept across the land, wreaking havoc on everything and everyone in its wake.
Zeus pinned Azrael by the neck, trying to cut off his air supply.
He pressed down hard, burying Azrael's head into the soil.
The murderous look on Zeus's face, combined with pure killing intent, overshadowed him.
But even worse, Azrael kept grinning comfortably, further igniting Zeus's rage.
"Zeus, come on, do it! I know you're dying to end me. Kekeke," Azrael chuckled as he lightly grabbed Zeus's wrist.
"You don't even have the guts."
Azrael's grip tightened as he twisted the hesitant Zeus and slammed him into the ground.
"I'll show you how to do it," Azrael said, raising his arm, which deformed and shaped into a sharp blade.
The moment he was about to thrust the blade into Zeus's head, an intense pain shot through him as another blade pierced a different part of his body—this time, behind his neck.
"Today, you die... Azrael!!!" A heavenly voice declared, leaving the sword embedded in Azrael's throat.
"Ourg..." Azrael choked from his ruptured vocal cords, yet he stood on his feet and rushed the figure with a heavy punch.
The figure braced himself with crossed arms, knowing full well the fearsome speed of the God of Darkness.
The impact sent him skidding back, but he quickly came to a stop by digging his feet into the earth.
"You are truly undying," Ventus, the God of Wind, said. "But every life can be ended, even us gods."
"Hehehe, well, even if I die, I'll always come back for you gods," Azrael said, fully aware that his death was imminent.
This was the God of Wind he was fighting; his end had been set from the beginning.
"Well then, your reign ends here," Ventus declared.
With a simple clutch of his palm, his light sword spun viciously, and Azrael was beheaded on the spot.
The God of Darkness, who had tormented the gods, became the first in existence to slay multiple gods and goddesses and even angered the supreme gods.
But he was finally vanquished after a long battle that had cost countless lives.
*****