The underworld was never quiet.
Even after millennia of reigning as the God of Death, Kael never grew numb to the screams. Souls wailed as they were dragged through rivers of black fire, bound by chains forged from their sins. The Abyssal Court loomed above them, a palace carved from obsidian and bone, sitting atop the throne of judgment. And Kael? He sat alone upon that throne—watching, listening, remembering.
But now, something had changed.
He was no longer merely Death. He was Vengeance. And vengeance was never still.
Kael stood, his cloak whispering like a chorus of the damned. "Is it ready?" he asked, his voice echoing without sound.
From the shadows stepped a figure—tall, skeletal, eyes burning like coals in a frozen forge. It was Mortivar, the Keeper of Regret and one of the oldest souls under Kael's command. He bowed, a painful gesture that sent cracking sounds through his brittle spine.
"It is," Mortivar rasped. "The Gate has been unsealed."
Kael's red eyes narrowed. "And the Chains?"
"Tested against ten thousand damned souls," Mortivar replied, pride lacing his hollow tone. "Not even a god could break free."
Kael didn't smile. He never did.
Instead, he extended his hand, and in a burst of black mist, a twisted blade formed. Its hilt was bone; its edge shimmered with soulfire. The Reaper's Fang. With this sword, he would begin the next stage of his rebellion.
"It's time I visit the mortal realm," Kael murmured, voice low and grim. "The puppet strings of the Creator must be cut—at their source."
"But Master," Mortivar said carefully, "if you return, the Balance will notice. The Celestials—"
"They'll come," Kael finished, stepping down from the throne. "Let them."
He walked through the grand hall of the Abyssal Court, each step silent despite the thunderous pressure he exuded. Spirits shrank back in fear. Death itself bowed before him.
As he neared the portal room, the atmosphere grew colder. The Gate to the mortal realm wasn't just a doorway—it was a prison, sealed with celestial light and divine punishment. Even Kael, as Death incarnate, had required centuries to bend it to his will.
Before the massive gate stood a circle of chained souls, eternally chanting a dark hymn that kept the seal weakened. Kael didn't look at them as he passed. He didn't need to.
With a flick of his sword, the gate's center tore open, revealing a swirling abyss of stars, blood, and memory.
"I will return," Kael said to Mortivar, who remained behind.
"Shall I prepare the Legion?" Mortivar asked, voice sharp as broken glass.
Kael paused. "Not yet. This vengeance… is personal."
And with that, he stepped through the Gate.
---
The mortal realm hadn't changed much.
Cities still cried out in their filth and greed. Humans still begged the skies for salvation from gods who never listened. And far above them, the temples of the Creator still stood—glorious and cruel, as if mocking all who dared dream of freedom.
Kael emerged in the ruins of a once-great kingdom—Draelor, the land where he had once lived as a mortal. A kingdom the Creator had sacrificed to test his divine punishment.
Kael knelt, touching the scorched earth.
He remembered it vividly—the fire, the screams, the betrayal. How the Creator had laughed as his people burned. How Kael had begged for mercy… only to be abandoned.
That was the day Death found him.
Now, he had returned.
The winds carried whispers, voices of those who sensed something unnatural had arrived. Kael walked forward, each step causing the ground to darken, the air to chill.
And then, he sensed it.
Divine energy.
He turned his head sharply to the horizon, where a golden light flared—far too holy, far too arrogant.
"A Celestial," Kael said, not surprised.
And then the twist arrived.
As Kael moved toward the light, a child appeared in his path.
Not just any child—a girl, no more than ten. But what froze Kael was not her presence… it was her eyes.
They were the same as his.
Red. Hollow. Infinite.
She stared at him without fear, without confusion. Instead, she smiled—a small, knowing smile.
"I've been waiting," she said softly.
Kael froze.
"Who are you?" he demanded, sword half-raised.
The girl didn't flinch. She extended her hand, and the mark of Death—his own divine sigil—burned into her palm.
"I am what you cast away," she whispered. "The part of you that remembers everything."
Then she vanished into black mist.
Kael stared at the space she had occupied, heart unmoved—yet mind suddenly shaken.
For the first time in eons… he felt doubt.
But he didn't have time to question.
The light on the horizon exploded—an angel had arrived.
And it wasn't alone.
The light took form.
Wings of gold stretched across the ruined sky, casting blinding radiance over the ash-stained land. Where Kael walked, death followed. Where this being tread, life cowered.
A Divine descended.
Its robes shimmered with starlight, and its eyes—once human—were now orbs of judgment. Each feather of its wings burned with divine authority, and the moment it touched the ground, the earth bloomed with brief, cursed vitality before crumbling under Kael's aura.
"I knew you'd come," the angel said.
Its voice was smooth, layered with many tones—male and female, ancient and new, all at once. The power of the Creator pulsed through its every word.
Kael faced the angel without emotion.
"Name yourself," he said flatly.
"I go by many names," the angel replied. "But for you, I am Seraphiel—the Watcher of Purity. The first blade of the Creator."
Kael's gaze didn't waver. "A hound, then."
Seraphiel tilted its head. "Still bitter. Still proud. Even after your fall."
"I never fell," Kael said. "I descended."
The air thickened. Magic, divine and dark, collided in invisible waves. The sky split slightly, unable to contain them.
"You have broken the Balance, Kael," Seraphiel said, voice sharp now. "You've tampered with forbidden power, corrupted the souls meant for rest, and blasphemed against the One who breathed life into the cosmos."
"I only took what was stolen," Kael replied. "The Creator didn't breathe life—He chained it."
Seraphiel's wings pulsed once. "Blasphemy."
Kael raised his sword. "Truth."
The angel didn't wait. With a burst of light, it vanished from view—reappearing above Kael, sword already descending. A blade of divine light, large enough to cleave mountains, struck with apocalyptic force.
Kael met it mid-air.
The clang of Reaper's Fang against the Celestial Blade echoed across the ruined plains, shattering rocks, splitting trees, and sending shockwaves miles wide. Light and death waged war in the span of seconds.
Seraphiel moved fast. Too fast for mortals. Even gods would struggle.
But Kael? He had danced with time itself. He parried, spun, slashed—and in one motion, drew dark fire into his blade and unleashed it with a roar.
A wave of cursed flame surged forward, forcing Seraphiel to block.
The angel was thrown backward, skidding across the earth, wings smoking.
"Impressive," Seraphiel murmured, rising. "But not enough."
Kael walked forward. "I'm not here to fight you."
"Then why unsheathe your blade?"
"Because I knew you would draw yours first."
Seraphiel paused.
Kael continued, "I came for answers. Not from you. But I know what follows you. The echo."
Seraphiel's smile faded.
"The Creator's echo," Kael repeated. "The one that corrupts the will of gods. The voice in your head. The whisper of obedience."
"You don't know what you're saying," Seraphiel said. "You're unraveling."
"I am awakening."
Kael pointed his sword at the heavens.
"Let the Creator hear me," he shouted. "Your angels are dying one by one. I won't strike first—but I'll end every one you send."
---
A tremor answered.
The ground beneath them cracked.
Not from battle—but from something else.
A pulse.
Kael turned sharply.
A rift was forming in the sky—not light, not shadow, but something older. Something deeper.
From it emerged a figure cloaked in blood-red mist, its face obscured by a veil of smoke and glowing chains wrapped around its body.
Seraphiel stepped back in alarm.
"You summoned that?" the angel asked.
"I didn't summon anything," Kael replied.
The figure hovered above the battlefield, arms outstretched, chains dangling like the limbs of forgotten gods.
Then it spoke.
A single sentence.
"You must forget who you were… to become what you are."
Kael's grip tightened.
Seraphiel shouted, "That's the Warden of the Void! The Judge Between Realities!"
The Warden's gaze pierced both of them.
Then—suddenly—it turned to Kael.
Chains burst forward, wrapping around his limbs, neck, chest—attempting to bind him.
Kael shouted, "I have no master!"
But the Warden was not a being of will—it was a law. A failsafe. A creature born from the Creator's hidden fears. It existed only to silence those who defied their written destiny.
Kael dropped to one knee as the chains seared through his form.
Seraphiel watched, uncertain.
Then Kael closed his eyes.
He whispered one word.
"Unbind."
The world stopped.
His body ignited—not with fire or death, but memory.
Thousands of voices—souls he had once judged—rose around him.
"I grant you freedom."
"I give you peace."
"I forgive you."
One by one, the souls gave Kael their strength.
Chains cracked.
The Warden's face twisted.
Kael stood once more, eyes blazing black and red.
And with a cry that split reality, he shattered the chains.
The Warden staggered backward.
Kael pointed his blade at it.
"You are not judgment. I am."
Then he struck.
---
The Warden screamed—an ancient, forgotten sound—as Kael's sword cleaved through its form. With a burst of voidlight, it was torn into shreds of smoke and unmade screams.
Silence returned.
Seraphiel fell to one knee, dazed.
Kael stood alone.
Again.
But this time, something had changed.
In the distance… a girl watched.
The child with red eyes.
She smiled.
Again.
The battlefield was quiet now.
Ash drifted through the air like falling snow, coating Kael's cloak in pale gray. The ruins of Draelor trembled beneath the echoes of the Warden's death, and even the winds held their breath—as if afraid to disturb the one who had just defied a law older than time.
Kael stood motionless, his blade buried in the scorched earth. The Reaper's Fang pulsed faintly, absorbing the last remnants of voidlight still writhing in the air. A reminder of what he had just done. What he had just become.
He had slain the Warden. A being that even gods feared.
Not with brute force.
But with the will of the dead.
He turned his gaze to Seraphiel, who remained kneeling, wide-eyed, trembling—not from fear, but from recognition.
"You..." the angel whispered, struggling to speak. "You... are no longer just Death."
Kael pulled the sword free. "I never was."
The Reaper's Fang dissipated into mist.
Kael walked toward the broken angel, each step a silent declaration of defiance.
"You were created to judge," Seraphiel said bitterly. "Now you've declared yourself a godkiller."
Kael looked down at the divine being that once towered over armies. "No," he said coldly. "I've declared myself free."
Seraphiel shuddered. "The Creator won't allow this."
"He has no choice."
A silence stretched between them.
Then Seraphiel slowly lowered his head. "So... what now?"
Kael turned away. "Now? I hunt. I seek the places where the Creator has rewritten the truths of this world. The temples, the prophets, the chains."
"And after that?" Seraphiel asked.
Kael paused. "I burn the throne."
He began walking once more, leaving the angel behind. He had no need for allies. Not yet.
But someone followed him anyway.
---
He heard the footsteps before he saw her.
Soft. Light. Unnatural.
Kael didn't turn around. "You're persistent."
The girl with red eyes appeared beside him, skipping lightly across cracked stones as if they weren't remnants of a battlefield.
"You didn't ask who I was," she said.
"I already know," Kael muttered.
She beamed. "Then say it."
Kael finally looked at her. "You're my soul."
"Only part of it," she giggled. "The part that broke when the Creator betrayed us. The part that clung to vengeance so deeply, it became real."
She twirled, arms wide. "I'm your rage. Your sorrow. Your truth."
Kael narrowed his eyes. "And why now?"
"Because you chose," she said, serious now. "You didn't kill the angel. You didn't become the Warden. You chose yourself. That gave me form."
Kael looked at his hands. "So I'm fracturing."
"No," the girl replied. "You're evolving."
They walked in silence. The sky above flickered between dusk and oblivion.
Finally, Kael asked, "What is your name?"
She stopped. Her smile faded. "I don't have one yet. But... you'll give me one soon."
Kael frowned. "That's not an answer."
She pointed at his chest. "Neither is what you're feeling."
He said nothing.
---
They arrived at a cliff overlooking the Valley of Echoes—a place where time bent, and memories repeated like whispers. Kael had once visited it as a mortal, long before he ascended. Back then, he thought the place sacred.
Now, it simply felt… hollow.
From below, he could hear faint voices. Old. Familiar.
"Kael..."
A whisper on the wind.
He stiffened.
"Kael…"
Another one.
Then he recognized them.
Not voices from the living.
But the dead.
His parents. His brother. The villagers. All burned alive when Draelor was sacrificed. Souls he thought had long passed into the Stream.
They were here?
Kael leapt down the cliff, landing without a sound.
The child followed behind, drifting like a shadow.
They moved through the veil of mist, toward the source of the voices.
Then he saw them.
Tens of thousands of souls—translucent, flickering, chained in a circle beneath a temple carved into the mountain. The Temple of Origin.
Kael's eyes widened.
It wasn't just a temple.
It was a prison.
A battery.
The Creator hadn't passed their souls on. He had kept them here. Used them to fuel a sacred site—a place of worship built from stolen pain.
Kael's rage ignited.
The Reaper's Fang manifested in his hand.
The girl whispered, "Do it."
Kael stepped forward. He raised the blade. Shadows curled around him.
But just before he struck—
A voice echoed from within the temple.
"You have come far, Kael."
It wasn't divine.
It wasn't mortal.
It was in-between.
From the darkness stepped a figure. Robed in gold and black. Half of its face was a skull. The other… was Kael's.
"I am your future," it said. "If you walk the path of vengeance to its end."
Kael stared at himself—older, crueler, more broken.
A version where there was no soul. No girl. No choice.
Only wrath.
Only war.
The girl stepped behind Kael, her presence flickering.
"You can still turn," the echo warned. "But if you take one more step… there is no going back."
Kael looked at the chained souls.
Then at his blade.
Then at himself.