Shadow knelt in the silence for what felt like centuries.
The agony of her loss hollowed him out, but it did not consume him. Something else had taken its place: resolve.
He stood and turned.
Adi and Hugo lay nearby, barely clinging to what was left of their divine cores. Their bodies were broken, their light fractured, and their pride obliterated. They trembled at the sight of Shadow’s cold gaze, knowing their end had come.
But Shadow didn’t raise his claws.
He knelt beside them… and healed them.
The warmth of divine regeneration coursed through their bodies, stitching them back together. Hope flickered in their eyes.
And then, he started the torture again.
It was not physical alone. It was emotional, spiritual, and endless.
For ten nights, Shadow repeated the cycle.
Heal. Torture. Heal. Torture.
He shattered their sense of time. Their minds cracked.
By the tenth night, the twins were begging for death.
“Please,” Hugo sobbed. “End us…”
“We’re sorry,” Adi whispered. “Forgive us…”
Shadow stood before them, his voice calm, devoid of hatred, filled with command.
“You hurt her. You destroyed my world. You served the one who betrayed everything. I do not forgive. I remember.”
Then, with a cruel precision only Shadow could possess, he raised his hand… and reincarnated them.
Not as gods.
Not even as mortals.
But as fragile lifeforms, born to suffer early deaths. And then, reincarnated again. And again. And again.
“You will relive death,” he said, “until I say stop.”
Their cries faded as their divine forms dissolved into smoke, souls tethered to the curse.
Shadow turned away.
Varn, watching from the shadows, stepped forward cautiously.
“…How much do you remember?” he asked.
Shadow didn’t look at him.
“Enough,” he said. “Enough to finish the other generals. Enough to destroy Noel.”
Varn was quiet for a moment. Then:
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“Why did the Grand Magis choose you?”
Shadow looked him dead in the eye.
“Because the Grand Magis is the Creator.”
Varn’s breath caught. The ground beneath his feet felt unstable.
“That’s impossible…”
“No,” Shadow said. “It’s truth. The Creator walked among us once, hid his divine spark, split himself. He chose me… not as a soldier. As his successor.”
Varn was shaken to his core. He turned away, jaw clenched.
Who was I… in that time? What did I do? Why don’t I remember?
He looked at Shadow again, but Shadow had already begun walking away.
Varn realized then: if he wanted answers, he would have to find them on his own.
Noel stood atop a throne of black flame, surrounded by the remaining generals. A storm circled above them, mirroring his fury.
“Still no word?” he asked, voice flat.
Clara shook her head. “Their energy has disappeared entirely. They are gone.”
Noel was silent.
He exhaled once, slow and deep.
“Shadow is regaining his power.”
The room darkened.
“From now on, none of you are to face him alone.”
The generals exchanged glances.
“Begin the next phase. Go to the chamber and train. I want no weakness when the war begins. The next time you see him... there will be no retreat.”
The generals nodded and left without a word.
Once the chamber was empty, Noel remained seated, gaze fixed on the void ahead.
He raised his hand.
A swirl of smoke formed before him, and someone stepped forward, cloaked in shadow, face hidden by a porcelain mask.
The figure knelt low, silent.
“What’s the update on Axel?” Noel asked.
The figure looked up.
The light from Noel’s eyes flickered, reflecting in the hollow sockets of the masked face.
The porcelain-masked figure remained kneeling before Noel, his presence barely disrupting the swirling smoke around him.
Noel leaned forward slightly, his voice sharp and quiet.
“Speak. What of Axel?”
The masked figure replied, his tone mechanical but certain.
“The weapon—Axel—is sealed in a place outside of space and time. A dimension constructed from the remnants of the Creator’s divine code.”
“And?”
“Only one being can enter it freely.”
Noel’s glowing eyes narrowed. “…Shadow.”
The figure nodded once. “The seal responds only to his power. Without it, Axel cannot be reached. I have searched every fissure in known realms. The location cannot be precisely tracked… yet.”
Noel’s hands curled over the arms of his throne.
“Then we don’t wait. We prepare.”
He stood, and the air grew thick with dark energy.
“Spread our reach. I want surveillance, divine and mortal, on every system and sector. From the edge of the Spiral Realms to the ruins of the Fallen Nebulas. No disturbance goes unreported. If a whisper of Axel’s presence surfaces—I want to know.”
The masked figure bowed again. “Understood. And what of the chains?”
Noel’s expression darkened.
“They’re still holding. But Axel is the only weapon capable of breaking them. Without it… I remain bound.”
His voice dropped to a near-growl.
“We cannot let that weapon fall into Shadow’s hands.”
He raised his arm again, and another ripple of black mist formed before him.
A new figure emerged—this time cloaked in a simple black coat, no armor, no mask. His face was calm, unreadable. A familiar scar ran down his cheek.
The chamber trembled at his presence—not from power, but from the weight of betrayal he represented.
Noel spoke without flair. “You’ve served him once. You know his world. You’ve walked its secrets.”
The man gave a small nod.
“Yes.”
“Then you’re the only one who can go back.”
Noel turned his head slightly, as if speaking to memory. “Freya… ruined and forgotten. But if Axel was ever hidden… he would hide it there.”
“So go. Search the remains. Strip the bones of that world. Leave no corner untouched.”
The man bowed his head fully now.
Noel’s voice was lower. Intent.
“And if you find it—bring it to me. Before he gets there.”
The figure gave no reply, but his loyalty—misplaced or corrupted—was evident.
He stepped into the swirling mist and vanished.
Noel’s eyes still burned.
“Even gods can turn.”
He let the silence hang.
And outside the throne chamber, the stars continued to shift—each one now a battlefield waiting to be claimed.
To be continued…