A normal human life may last a hundred, or even two hundred years, with the help of all life-prolonging treasures. A warrior, through sheer strength and will, might push their lifespan to four or five hundred years more. A capable magus, with mastery over the arcane, could reach the thousand-year mark. More distinguished warlords easily live for thousands of years, and as for the deities—there's no need to mention, for they live through eras, their existence stretching beyond time.
"But, have you ever considered what lies beyond death?"
Life, death, and reincarnation—though many have delved into their secrets and forged their own laws, they remain a mystery even to those who claim understanding, a blank page for many, shrouded in endless enigma.
Even someone as mighty as a deity desires nothing more than to prolong their life, to remain forever youthful—but that's where their ambition ends. No one dares to challenge death, to confront its inevitability, or to seek a way to conquer the doors of reincarnation.
It's as if the mere thought of such rebellion is a taboo, a forbidden notion that whispers in the shadows. The idea of revolting against death seems so daunting that it might carry a punishment far more severe than death itself—a fate worse than the end of existence. It evokes a fear so deep that even the most powerful beings shy away from contemplating it.
"Eons ago, a mortal once marched to the doors of the Underworld, claiming to be the hero of destiny.
He, along with his fellowship, boldly knocked on the gates of the Abyssal Archon's castle, demanding the soul of a foul deity. The Archon, ancient and unshaken, met their demands with silence at first, his presence alone enough to instill fear. His mere gaze weighed heavily on the intruders, as if the very air around him bent to his will. They came prepared for battle, but it quickly became clear that they were facing something far beyond their mortal understanding."
Despite enduring a brutal beating, battered black and blue and standing at the threshold of death, the gods they represented remained absent, as if the events unfolding here were beneath their notice.
The reason? It was the man they had offended.
For he was the Lord—the very embodiment of life, death, and reincarnation—known by myriad names, adorned with countless faces, and embodying a tapestry of roles that spanned the ages.
He was the author of myst, myth, fear, grief, dread, agony, and despondency—embodying all the worst of torment. He who walks the path of the Abyss does so for creation to tread the path of Utopia.
And the reason no one could comprehend the laws of the three aspects of natural order,
Life, Death and Reincarnation
He was the Archon of Eternal Abyss.
——— ——— ——— ———
Ravenspire, Grimhold district
Ravenspire, an infamous city known for it's formidable defences, indomitable leaders and the notorious criminals as it's citizens.
Despite being the safest place in the conclave of greater worlds, it was a place with by far the worst safety. It was a high-walled city, notorious for its black markets and mercenary guilds.
Ravenspire was built here to control and defend against the worst nightmare of all sapient life forms, Beast tides.
With its high walls providing protection against both invaders and rival bandit factions. The city is infamous for its black markets, smuggling operations, and mercenary outposts, making it a crucial hub for illicit activity in a contested region.
All who dwell here, no matter their background, bow to one unbreakable rule. The rule that binds the integrity of this place. The Law of the Jungle.
In a city where survival of the fittest underpins every regulation, one man stands above all, shining the brightest. He is the force that tamed the chaos, the man whose mighty hand brought these brutes together, halting the turmoil that would have otherwise consumed them. He is the law of this place.
He is Zephiron Eryndor Arcelius.
In the grand tapestry of history, the Hero of Warfare stands as a monumental figure, revered for his unparalleled strength and indomitable spirit. Alongside the three heroes of destiny—the Hero of Life, the Hero of Light, and the Hero of Law—he once confronted the demon god in a legendary struggle, ultimately slaying it.
The Grimhold District, dominated by the looming Ravenspire, sits at the very heart of the Conclave of Greater Worlds, surrounded by seven of the council's most powerful nations. Spanning a colossal territory, it's so vast that it could be considered a quasi-nation. With towering fortresses and a massive population, its significance cannot be understated. Yet, despite its location, it exists outside the reach of any nation's laws.
The reason is Zephiron. For millennia, he has claimed Grimhold as his domain. The "beasts" of this realm are not wild creatures but the ruthless bandits and outlaws who infest the streets, lurking in every shadow. The "jungle" is the city itself—a chaotic, sprawling maze of crime and danger. Zephiron's unparalleled power enabled him to tame this urban wilderness. He bent the bandits to his will, turning the very chaos of the city into his stronghold. Under his reign, Grimhold remains an untouchable stronghold, free from any external control, feared even by the mightiest nations.
And yet, here he was, standing before a youth with a sharp dagger aimed at his face—a stark contrast to the usual dominance he held over Grimhold and its unruly bandits.
"So, an assassination attempt, is it?"
Zephiron chuckled, his voice carrying the weight of centuries. "Quite well played, kid. Now drop your act and bring out those fools who sent you here. I can't believe they're bold enough to try and assassinate me." He laughed, though his tone hinted at suspicion.
But the youth just didn't seem to falter at all, as if the one he's facing is just an uncle from the backstreet.
After a brief moment of silence, the youth lunged straight at the ancient warrior without any hesitation, the sharp dagger aiming right at his neck.
The youth moved with inhumane agility, darting around the hero with shift, precise movements. Yet, Zephiron remained still, unfazed by the deadly blade that was slicing through the air toward him, it seemed as though the attack posed no threat to him at all. All he did was chant a small word.
"Statera Mortalis"
The youth, in full momentum, closed in on him—only to halt abruptly, as though frozen in midair. Every inch of his body seemed paralyzed, inaccessible. Despite all his strength, he could only move his eyes, the dagger slipping from his grasp. He struggled for a full minute before finally giving up.
Zephiron, though easily immobilizing the assailant, noticed from the corner of his eye that, despite being frozen in place, the youth looked as though he could break free at any moment. He quickly dismissed the thought—it was as impossible as it seemed.
Even after a full minute of silence, the culprit remained still, seemingly unbothered by the fact that his life might end at any moment. Yet, beneath his stoic expression, a faint glimmer of mixed emotions flickered deep in his eyes—barely noticed by the ancient immortal.
Catching that subtle detail, Zephiron spoke, his tone more curious than commanding.
"Hatred and desire are never found on the same path, child. Now, tell me—what is it that you truly seek?"