The world was crumbling into oblivion.
Everything was being consumed by the suffocating darkness of the Void… and there was no escape.
Yet, the valiant defenders fought on.
It was their destiny.
To die fighting.
And die they did.
The War of the Eternal Divide was officially lost.
"It… it's over," a man whispered, collapsing to his knees.
His emerald eyes, once filled with determination, now dimmed with despair. His jet-black hair clung to his sweat-drenched, blood-streaked face.
A gaping wound tore through his chest, and his left arm was severed at the shoulder. His once-pristine silver armor was now cracked, scorched, and drenched in blood. His body, once a symbol of strength, was now a canvas of scars and burns.
Around him, the world burned. The skies were choked with ash, and the ground was consumed by the crimson flames of the Void. The air reeked of death and decay.
His comrades lay lifeless around him. His commander, his friends, his family… all gone.
Dead.
On this desolate battlefield, abandoned even by the gods, only he remained.
Then, in a flash, a figure appeared before him. Too swift to perceive, too powerful to resist.
The man looked up, his teeth clenched in futile rage. He wanted to scream, to curse, but his strength had long since abandoned him.
Before him stood a towering figure.
…But it was no mere man.
His skin was an unnatural shade of pale, like marble bleached by the sun. Two obsidian horns curved from his temples, forming a crown of darkness. His armor, blacker than the deepest abyss, seemed to devour the light around him, casting an impenetrable shadow.
Enormous wings, leathery and ghostly white, unfurled from his back, their span blotting out the sky. His hair, a cascade of molten silver, flowed down to his waist. His eyes burned like twin supernovae, their golden light piercing through the darkness.
He was the embodiment of wrath, a god of destruction gazing down upon the remnants of a broken world.
This was the being… the monster… who had brought about the end.
He had crushed the armies of the realms. He had slain the Sovereigns. And, most importantly, he had eradicated the Chosen Ones.
He was the Eighth Umbral Monarch The most feared of all the Abyssal Entities.
The Harbinger of infinite dark.
"Your struggle is futile. Accept your end," the Umbral Monarch declared, his voice resonating with an authority that demanded submission. "You have lost."
For a moment, his expression softened, almost… regretful.
"If only you had been stronger," he murmured, his voice heavy with an uncharacteristic solemnity.
He spoke as if addressing an insect, a trivial obstacle in his path. Crushing such insignificant beings should have been beneath him.
And yet, he felt a flicker of remorse. Not for the lives he had taken, but for the inevitability of it all.
Pity. That was the emotion. Not sorrow, not anger—just pity.
The man before him finally found the strength to speak, his voice trembling with hatred. "M-Monster… You damned monster!"
But the Monarch had already lost interest.
With a snap of his fingers, the man erupted into crimson flames, his existence erased in an instant.
Silence followed, heavy and oppressive.
Then…
"...Y-You couldn't bear the weight of your own failure, could you?"
Suddenly, the Umbral Monarch heard another voice, weak and fragile, as if clinging to the last vestiges of life.
He turned sharply, his golden eyes narrowing in surprise. Another figure lay amidst the carnage, partially buried beneath the corpses of her allies.
"Another survivor?" The Void Lord raised an eyebrow, a mix of curiosity and disbelief etched on his flawless face.
The woman had long, fiery red hair that must have once been vibrant. Now, it was singed and matted with blood and ash.
Her body, though obscured by the carnage, was clearly broken. Her once-elegant frame was now twisted and battered.
Her eyes, a piercing shade of sapphire, had lost their brilliance. Yet, they locked onto the Umbral Monarch with an intensity that belied her condition.
But there was something else… something on her forehead.
…A third eye.
A spectral third eye, glowing with an otherworldly light. It was a relic of the divine, capable of piercing the veil of reality.
She was the last of the Ascendant Ones.
The bearer of the Oracle's Divine Eyes.
Ah, that explained her survival.
"...Your past haunts you," she rasped, her voice strained and barely audible. "And your future… is even darker. I pity you."
"Pity? Me?" The Umbral Monarch almost laughed, incredulous. "You've lost your mind, human. I have no idea what you're saying."
But she ignored him and continued:
"Your quest for godhood… is it not just an empty promise? You've been betrayed before. Why, then, do you still seek to ascend?"
The Umbral was sincerely bewildered.
What was she jibber jabbering about? Had she truly lost her sanity in the face of death?
He shook his head, raising his hand to erase her with a single snap.
"I see," she sighed, indifferent to her impending doom. "Then I will tell you your fate…"
With her final breath, she summoned the last of her strength… and uttered her prophecy in a voice that echoed with the weight of destiny:
"From shadowed depths, a cursed soul born, His heart by vengeance, forever torn.
Bound by a pact, twisted and dire, He walks the path where stars expire.
Through realms of sorrow, he seeks to flee, Yet memory fades in Time's vast sea.
But fate shall call him back once more, To tread the steps he walked before.
In nameless guise, he'll play his part, Unknowing of his fractured heart.
And when the threads of fate align, A choice shall shape the end of time.
A Villain's path or a Hero's grace? One soul to conquer time and space.
Once a dark heart, now the world's last breath, To bring eternal life… or endless death."
The Umbral Monarch was stunned. Utterly speechless.
Why was this woman prophesying now?
And what did it mean?
She claimed to reveal his fate, but he hadn't asked for it!
He knew the bearer of the Oracle's Divine Eyes was a seer.
A Mythic rank Ascendant prophet.
But was this really the time for cryptic poetry? At the edge of of the Umbral Abyss closely near death ?
And why did all seers speak in riddles?! Why couldn't they just say what they meant?!
With a flick of his wrist, the Umbral Monarch erased her from existence, the crimson flames leaving no trace behind.
"Strange woman," he muttered before spreading his wings and teleporting into the clouds.
It was over.
The Sovereigns near godhood were dead, the Chosen Ones conquered and destroyed, and even the Gods had fled to the higher heavens.
The One Who Reigns had victory.
Now… it was time to claim the Throne of Infinity in the clouds.