The Battlefield of Ruin
The battlefield was a broken land, covered in scars from the great war that had just ended. The air still buzled with the leftover power of gods and warriors. Smoke rose from the ground like ghostly snakes, twisting into the sky. The sounds of battle—clashing swords, roaring flames, and dying screams—still whispered in the wind, fading slowly like the last notes of a sad song.
In the middle of this destruction stood Azarel, a mighty warrior. Her golden armor was dented and scratched from battle. Her long silver hair, usually shining like moonlight, was now dirty with ash and blood. Her heart, which had been strong and unshaken during the war, now trembled with shock.
Because standing before her, falling from the sky like a dying star, was Lord Carel—the god she had thought was dead.
His great wings, once glowing with divine power, were now torn and broken. His godly light, which had once burned bright, flickered weakly like a candle about to go out. His face was tired, but his lips curled into the smallest smile when he saw her.
A Whisper in the Ashes
"Azarel…" His voice was soft, barely louder than the wind, but it carried the weight of a thousand battles.
Tears filled Azarel's eyes, shining like stars in the night. "Lord Carel!" she cried, her voice shaking between joy and disbelief. "You're alive!"
Carel landed gently in front of her, his boots sinking into the ash-covered ground. He looked down for a moment, his face filled with both relief and sadness. "Yes, Azarel… I am."
Then, without another word, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace.
This was rare—Lord Carel was a god who ruled with cold strength, not warmth. He was not one to hug his warriors. But now, he held Azarel like a father holding a lost child.
Azarel clung to him, her fingers gripping his armor so hard her knuckles turned white. She was afraid that if she let go, he would disappear like smoke in the wind.
"How?" she gasped, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. "How did you survive? We saw the explosion—the blast that swallowed the sky! It nearly killed us all! And when the light faded… I thought… I thought you were gone!" Her voice cracked. "But even then, my heart refused to believe it."
Carel's grip tightened. "I would have died," he admitted, his voice heavy. "If not for Lord Nealon, Lord Yoton, and the Supreme Troops—along with their commander. They arrived late to the battle, but not too late to pull us from death's grip." His eyes darkened. "That blast… it was Lord Yoton's last act. He sacrificed himself to destroy the Chaos God."
A War That Will Shake the Heavens
Azarel stumbled back, her golden eyes wide with shock. "A Ruler… killed by a lesser god?" The meaning of his words hit her like a tidal wave. "This… this will start a war across all the verses! Even now, gods and ancient powers are gathering—forming alliances to rise against the Rulers!"
Carel's face hardened like stone. "Let them come. They will fall."
But Azarel shook her head, her mind racing. "The Universe Gods refuse to join the fight. The Multiverse Gods have already sworn to rebel. The Starverse is stirring too. Only the Domainverse remains calm. And we…" She hesitated. "We of the Reveiverse must stand with the Rulers."
"We must," Carel agreed, "but not openly. We have lost too many—warriors, gods, assassins, guardians. If we are attacked now, we will be wiped out. We need time… at least twenty years to rebuild our strength."
Azarel clenched her fists. "Can we not ask for help? The Universe… the Cronoverse—"
"The Cronoverse has already sent soldiers," Carel interrupted. "But if the Universe openly sends troops to us now, it will force the Multiverse and Starverse to attack immediately. The Universe is strong—they can hold off an invasion long enough for the Cronoverse to help them. But we… we are weak right now."
Azarel let out a sharp breath. "You're right. Then we must train. Grow stronger."
Carel nodded. "According to your spies, Azarel… how long before the rebellion begins?"
She closed her eyes, thinking. "Fifteen years. The Cronoverse has sent their assassins to kill rebel leaders across the verses. That should buy us time."
A dark smile touched Carel's lips. "Then we prepare. For now, gather the survivors. Take them back to their worlds."
Azarel bowed. "At once, my Lord."
"And Azarel…" Carel's voice softened. "Afterward, come to my chambers."
For just a second, Azarel hesitated—so quickly that most would not have noticed. But she nodded. "Y-yes, my Lord."
Then she turned and walked away, her figure cutting through the smoke like a sharp blade.
The King's Relief
As soon as Azarel was gone, King Saga came running toward Carel. His royal robes were torn, his face covered in dirt and sweat. He stopped in front of Carel, breathing hard.
"M-my Lord!" he gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. "Forgive my shock, but—by the heavens, you live! When we saw that explosion, I feared the worst!"
Carel laughed—a rare, warm sound. "Saga, my old friend… you should know by now that I am not so easy to kill."
King Saga grinned, though his eyes were tired. "Indeed, my Lord. Please, come to my castle. Rest. Eat. Let your soldiers recover before you leave."
Carel placed a hand on Saga's shoulder. "Your kindness is appreciated. But first, we must make sure every survivor—from every corner of the verse—returns home safely."
Saga bowed deeply. "Of course, my Lord."
"Then give the order," Carel commanded. "All troops must escort the survivors. And spread the word—in five years' time, every divine race, dark race, hybrid god, and powerful warrior will gather here, in Saga, for a war council."
King Saga's face became serious. "It shall be done."
As the king hurried away, Carel turned his gaze to the horizon—where the first light of dawn painted the sky in colors of blood and gold.
The war was far from over.
And soon, the verses would burn.
To Be Continued.