Chapter 3: Echoes of Eternity
**The Temple of the Veiled Truths**
The temple stood as it always had—an ancient, otherworldly structure resting in the liminal space between realities. Its grand halls of blackened stone shimmered faintly with light from spectral runes that hovered mid-air, their glowing characters alive with unreadable secrets. Maelvas, the eternal collector of souls, walked its corridors with measured grace, his long white hair flowing like a silver cascade against the dark.
His golden eyes, sharp and piercing, scanned the ethereal contract scroll in his hand—a record of Gideon's soul, now safely contained in the infinite vault of his domain. The image of the young man's final moments still lingered in Maelvas's mind, not out of guilt or sympathy, but curiosity.
"Another ambition extinguished," Maelvas murmured, his deep voice echoing through the empty temple.
He traced a gloved finger over the scroll, the runes responding with a faint glow. Though he had seen countless mortals walk this path, each new soul added to his collection seemed to deepen the mystery of their ceaseless hunger for power.
Before he could dwell further, the air in the temple shifted. A low hum reverberated through the hall, and the once-stable light of the runes flickered. Maelvas stilled, his sharp features tightening.
The world he was tethered to—the primal, untamed realm where Gideon's tragedy had unfolded—was destabilizing.
In his inner sanctum, Maelvas approached a colossal circular mirror framed in writhing vines of gold. Its surface rippled like water, displaying images of the primal world. What he saw confirmed his suspicions.
The earth cracked and split as rivers boiled into steam, and the skies burned with crimson streaks. Entire cities crumbled as mountains fell, burying what little civilization the world had managed to build.
"A collapse so soon?" he mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "It seems the natural balance here was far weaker than I anticipated."
He stepped back from the mirror, unfurling his cloak. Its edges shimmered as if stitched from the very fabric of space. With a practiced motion, he waved his hand, and the temple began to realign itself—a preparation for departure.
But as Maelvas made his final adjustments, he felt a sudden, unmistakable shift in the energy around him. A foreign presence, powerful and uninvited, stepped into his domain.
"You've grown careless, Maelvas."
The voice was cold and mocking, cutting through the air like a blade. Maelvas turned slowly to see the rival soul merchant emerge from the shadows.
The figure was starkly different from Maelvas. Where Maelvas exuded regality and control, this merchant was wild and chaotic. His hair was jet-black, tangled, and unruly, while his crimson eyes glowed with unchecked fury. A twisted smirk played on his lips, and his tattered robes revealed a lean, wiry frame crackling with raw energy.
"Varekon," Maelvas said evenly, his tone devoid of surprise.
"Surprised to see me?" Varekon's smirk widened. "You've been hoarding souls like a greedy miser, Maelvas. It's time someone taught you the price of gluttony."
Maelvas sighed, his golden eyes narrowing. "This is neither the time nor the place for your petty grievances. The world is ending, and I have no intention of wasting my energy on a meaningless skirmish."
Varekon's laughter rang out, sharp and grating. "Oh, it won't be meaningless. You know the rules of our kind—when one of us falls, their collection becomes the victor's prize." He gestured with a clawed hand, the air around him distorting. "And I've waited far too long for the honor of devouring your treasures."
The temple trembled as the two merchants unleashed their powers. Maelvas stood tall, his movements precise and deliberate, while Varekon surged forward with feral aggression. Their clash was a storm of energy and sorcery, each strike shaking the very foundation of the temple.
Varekon conjured spectral blades from the void, each one crackling with dark energy, and hurled them at Maelvas. With a flick of his wrist, Maelvas summoned golden shields of light, effortlessly deflecting the onslaught.
"You've always relied on brute force," Maelvas said calmly, stepping through the barrage. "It's no wonder your collection pales in comparison to mine."
Varekon snarled, launching himself at Maelvas with claws extended. The two collided, their auras colliding in a blinding explosion of light and shadow. Maelvas twisted gracefully, sidestepping Varekon's strikes and countering with a sweep of his hand. Tendrils of golden light snaked through the air, ensnaring Varekon and dragging him to his knees.
"Yield," Maelvas commanded, his voice echoing with unyielding authority.
But Varekon only laughed, his form flickering like a dying flame. "Yield? You don't understand, Maelvas. I'll never stop—"
Before he could finish, Maelvas's hand shot forward, plunging into Varekon's chest. The rival merchant's laughter turned to a choked gasp as Maelvas tore his soul free.
The energy coalesced into a pulsing orb, brighter and larger than most. Maelvas held it aloft, his expression unreadable. "Another addition to my collection," he murmured.
With a final gesture, he absorbed Varekon's soul into his being. The rival's body disintegrated into ash, scattered by the swirling winds of the collapsing world.
The temple groaned as the primal world's destruction accelerated. Maelvas returned to his mirror, now glowing with the light of a new destination. With a wave of his hand, the temple folded into itself, vanishing from the dying world.
When Maelvas stepped through the portal, he found himself in a world starkly different from the one he had left. Towering mountains pierced the heavens, their peaks shrouded in mist. Lush forests stretched for miles, their ancient trees teeming with life. Rivers glistened like liquid crystal, winding through vast valleys dotted with small villages.
But what caught Maelvas's attention most was the sight unfolding in the distance—a massive battlefield where two sects clashed. Warriors in flowing robes moved with precision and grace, their blades slicing through the air as techniques and formations lit up the landscape.
Explosions of qi tore through the battlefield, the raw power of martial arts shaking the ground. Sect banners fluttered in the wind, their vibrant colors stained with the blood of the fallen.
Maelvas watched the chaos unfold, his golden eyes cold and calculating. "No matter the world," he said, his voice tinged with disdain, "humanity's greatest enemy will always be itself."
The winds carried his words into the distance as he turned away from the battlefield, his next move already taking shape in his mind.