The world was unraveling at the seams.
Reality itself was being torn apart by the relentless tide of the Eclipse, a force born from the collision of the Material Realm and the Abyss. There was no escape, no sanctuary—only the inevitability of annihilation.
Yet, the defenders of the Eternal Bastion fought on.
It was their duty.
To stand against the end.
And fall they did.
The War of the Sundered Realms was lost.
"It's… hopeless," a woman murmured, her voice barely audible over the roar of the collapsing world.
Her once-vivid amber eyes were now dull, their light extinguished by despair. Her auburn hair, matted with blood and ash, clung to her face as she knelt amidst the ruins of her homeland.
Her armor, forged from the legendary Aetherium, was shattered, its golden sheen now tarnished and blackened. Her body, once a symbol of unyielding strength, was broken—her left leg crushed, her right arm hanging limply at her side.
Around her, the battlefield was a wasteland. The skies bled crimson, and the ground was littered with the corpses of her comrades. Her brothers and sisters in arms, her mentors, her loved ones… all gone.
Dead.
On this forsaken plain, abandoned even by the gods, she was the last.
Then, with a sound like thunder, a figure emerged from the chaos.
He moved with an unnatural grace, his presence suffocating. The air around him seemed to warp, as if reality itself recoiled from his existence.
The woman looked up, her lips curling into a snarl of defiance. She wanted to scream, to curse his name, but her voice failed her.
Before her stood a being of unimaginable power.
…But he was no mere mortal.
His skin was pale, almost translucent, like moonlight filtered through a veil of frost. Two jagged horns, black as the void, spiraled from his temples, casting long shadows across his face. His armor, a fusion of obsidian and silver, pulsed with a malevolent energy, as if alive.
Wings of shadow and flame unfurled from his back, their span blotting out the dying sun. His hair, a cascade of silver streaked with crimson, flowed like a river of molten metal. His eyes, twin orbs of molten gold, burned with an intensity that could sear the soul.
He was the Umbral Monarch.
The harbinger of the end.
The conqueror of realms.
This was the being who had brought ruin to the world. He had shattered the Eternal Bastion, slain the Guardians of the Veil, and extinguished the light of the Chosen.
"Your defiance is meaningless," the Umbral Monarch declared, his voice resonating with a power that shook the very earth. "The end has come."
For a moment, his expression softened, almost… regretful.
"If only you had been stronger," he murmured, his voice tinged with an unexpected melancholy.
He spoke as if addressing a child, a naive creature unaware of its insignificance. Crushing such a being should have been beneath him.
And yet, he felt a flicker of something—pity, perhaps. Not for the lives he had taken, but for the futility of their struggle.
The woman before him found the strength to speak, her voice trembling with hatred. "Y-You… monster…"
But the Umbral Monarch had already turned away.
With a wave of his hand, the woman was consumed by a vortex of shadow and flame, her existence erased without a trace.
Silence followed, heavy and oppressive.
Then…
"...Y-You couldn't escape your own guilt, could you?"
Suddenly, the Umbral Monarch heard another voice, frail and broken, yet laced with an eerie calm.
He turned, his golden eyes narrowing in surprise. Another figure lay amidst the ruins, half-buried beneath the rubble of a fallen tower.
"Another survivor?" The Umbral Monarch raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued.
The figure was a man, his once-proud frame now broken and battered. His silver hair, streaked with blood, clung to his face. His armor, adorned with the sigil of the Eternal Bastion, was cracked and scorched.
But what caught the Eclipse King's attention was the mark on the man's forehead—a third eye, glowing with a faint, otherworldly light.
He was the last of the Seers.
The bearer of the Eye of Eternity.
"...Your past is a chain," the Seer rasped, his voice barely audible. "And your future… is a prison. I pity you."
"Pity? Me?" The Umbral Monarch almost laughed, incredulous. "You're delirious, mortal. Your words mean nothing."
But the Seer continued, undeterred:
"Your quest for dominion… is it not just a hollow dream? You've been betrayed, deceived… yet you still cling to this path. Why?"
The Umbral Monarch expression darkened. "Enough," he growled, raising his hand to silence the Seer once and for all.
But the Seer spoke again, his voice rising with a final, desperate strength:
"From the ashes of despair, a shadow shall rise,
A soul torn asunder, bound by lies.
Through realms of chaos, he seeks his place,
Yet memory fades, leaving no trace.
But fate shall call him back to the fray,
To walk the path he fled that day.
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 froze, his hand hovering in mid-air. The Seer's words echoed in his mind, their meaning elusive yet haunting.
"Why…?" the Umbral Monarch whispered, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "Why tell me this?"
But the Seer was already gone, his body consumed by the same vortex of shadow and flame.
The Umbral Monarch stood in silence, the weight of the prophecy pressing upon him.
It was over.
The Eternal Bastion had fallen. The Guardians of the Veil were no more. Even the gods had fled, leaving the world to its fate.
The Umbral Monarch had triumphed.
But as he spread his wings and ascended into the crimson sky, a single thought lingered in his mind:
What if the end… is only the beginning?