The courtyard was dead silent.
Not a whisper.
Not a breath.
Not even time dared move.
Vorun stood there—statuesque, divine, monstrous.
And Kaleus, patriarch of the Shadowblood line, took a slow, instinctive step forward. His children followed behind him—five heirs, each cloaked in layered auras, eyes flicking between the cratered sky and the dark figure at its center.
"Vorun…?" Kaleus's voice wavered, low and uncertain.
But the eyes didn't change. They only stared. Cold. Endless.
Then something inside him screamed. Not his body. Not his mind.
Something deeper.
His soul.
He squinted, trying to see past those abyssal rings.
"What… are you?" he muttered, his voice quieter now, laced with dread.
Vorun didn't answer.
He smiled.
Not softly. Not gently.
A slow, spreading, sinister curve of the lips—like a corpse waking up with intent.
That was the last confirmation Kaleus needed.
His hand flew out, palm splayed.
"Everyone—back! Now! GET AWAY FROM HERE!"
His aura exploded—storm-black and shaped like a burning eclipse. The marble of the estate cracked under the sudden surge. Trees bowed away. Shadows screamed.
But no one moved.
Not Voruns wife. Not the soldiers.
Not even the wind.
None of them could move.
Because something else had surged in answer.
A wave of blackness—not like Vorun's old element. Not even like darkness as mortals understood it. This was thicker. Heavier. Alive. It oozed from Vorun's form and draped the entire estate like a breathing grave.
Every atom screamed to escape.
And yet—no one could move an inch.
It was then that one of Vorun's siblings—Draven, the third-born, sharp-eyed and tactically brilliant—realized what their father meant.
This… wasn't going to be a standoff.
This was going to be a massacre.
If this battle ignited now, the entire estate—all its people, animals, memories—would be reduced to nothing.
Dravens core ignited.
"Dome protocol. Dimensional isolation!" he shouted.
In a burst of silver-blue light, Draven palms traced symbols into the air, forming an intricate seal matrix. One by one, everyone within the estate began to vanish—blurred into light, whisked away to a secure dimensional anchor.
Guards. Servants. Pets.
All gone in a flash of magic.
Except two.
Vorun. Kaleus.
Silence returned, thicker than before.
The shadows around them undulated—alive, watching.
Kaleus didn't blink. He didn't breathe.
Neither did Vorun.
Until finally—
"…You're not Vorun," Kaleus said.
And the thing before him chuckled.
Not loudly. Just enough to scrape at the edges of sanity.
Then, it spoke.
"No".
I am not the child you broke.
I am not the weakling you starved of praise.
I… am Knull."
The name echoed like a dead language carved into bone.
Kaleus stiffened. His eyes narrowed.
"You've possessed him."
"He welcomed me," Knull said calmly. "Your son, the weakest of the Monarchs—born with a spark you refused to see. You made him small. So I offered him the Abyss."
Kaleus's fingers curled into fists, the void-light of his element flickering at his shoulders. Wrath built behind his eyes.
"You speak as if I made him break."
"No," Knull replied, stepping forward, the ground beneath him cracking with each graceful motion. "You didn't make him break.
You made him beg.
You withheld. You compared. You made the boy bury himself in silence—until he forgot the sound of his own heart."
The words stabbed deep—but Kaleus didn't flinch.
Until Knull added—
"You're the reason she died, too."
Everything froze.
Even the dark winds of the Abyss seemed to pause.
Kaleus's face darkened.
"…Don't."
"She begged you to see him. And you ignored her too. She died thinking you would change."
A tremble ran through the earth.
"I said—DON'T!"
Kaleus's aura exploded, spiraling like black suns caught in orbit. The sky shattered again—massive arcs of power ripping through the clouds, vaporizing any remaining structures nearby. From his palm, a spear of radiant shadow burst to life, its edge jagged and humming with celestial rage.
"Enough TALK!" Kaleus bellowed.
He launched forward—faster than thought, a streak of wrath and judgment.
And the God of the Abyss—
smiled.
---
The sky here was still—frozen in an artificial blue, untouched by storm or shadow. The Dimensional Refuge was empty of life… until the survivors began to appear.
In pulses of white light, the estate's guards, servants, and even the household pets materialized across the flat terrain, coughing, gasping, stumbling for balance.
Draven stood at the center, breath heavy, sigils still glowing faint on his hands.
Around him, guards and servants caught their breath—silent. Shocked.
Vorun's wife knelt nearby, eyes locked on nothing, shaking.
Two of the siblings approached—Lyra, the eldest, and Tharek, second-born.
"You saw his eyes," Tharek muttered."That wasn't Vorun anymore."
Lyra's jaw tightened."And Father's aura... he's not holding back."
Draven didn't turn."If they fight… one of them isn't walking away."
A heavy silence followed.
Then Draven spoke again, low.
"Let's pray it's not both."
---
The sky above the estate split again.
A thunderclap rang across the continent—a crack so loud that oceans trembled.
And at its epicenter, Kaleus launched forward, teeth bared, aura screaming.
The ground beneath his feet liquified under pressure, shattered stone flinging outward like shrapnel. His fists met air, but the force alone cracked the dimensional veil.
But Knull was already gone.
He moved like liquid shadow—slipping between strikes, weaving between Kaleus's elemental surges as if time bent around him.
"Look at you," Knull sneered, sidestepping a blow that cratered the courtyard.
"Swinging your legacy around like it means something. But you look tired, human."
Kaleus roared, his voice coated in rage and memory. His attacks grew faster, heavier—more savage. Blades of compressed darkness spun from his hands, detonating into spirals of devouring void.
And still—Knull smiled.
"You were a master," Knull hissed. "The greatest wielder of darkness your world ever birthed."
A pause.
Then a mocking grin.
"But now… you're fighting darkness itself."
The words were knives. And they dug deep.
Kaleus flared with wrath, his body wreathed in black flame, but inside—he knew.
His mastery of the shadows had never been tested like this.
Still—he wouldn't falter.
Not now.
Not when his son was lost to this thing.
Not when he knew what he had to do.
His voice came low. Calm.
"…Alright fine."
A pulse of silence.
And then—the world broke.
---
The clouds tore apart above the estate. Lightning, unnatural and blood-red, raced across the heavens.A tornado of shadow and light coiled into the sky, flattening forests miles away.
Wind howled like gods screaming. Thunder shattered the peaks of distant mountains.
And from within the storm…
He rose.
Kaleus.
Transformed.
He now stood taller, posture regal—his muscles defined but not brutish, his frame encased in shimmering jet-black armor carved with spirals of silver veining that moved like ink. His cape, obsidian on one side and storm-gray on the other, swirled like smoke caught in reverse time.
His hair flowed silver, long and sharp like strands of moonlight—cascading behind him in elegant disarray.
His face was cold—angular, sculpted like a god of war.His eyes were twin wells of voidfire, burning with an intensity that rivaled stars.
And behind him, a ring of eclipses shimmered—six orbiting spheres of darkness spinning around his back like a divine constellation.
"I will show you…" he whispered.
Then drew his weapon.
A long, twisted blade—pitch black, jagged like it had been mined from the corpse of a dying god. It screamed when unsheathed, weeping smoke and hunger.
"Absolute nothingness."
Knull stopped.
His smile faltered.
And for the first time…
He took a step back.
"…How… how do you wield that BLADE?!"
Kaleus tilted his head, smirking. His voice, soft and sharp, cut like a dagger in the dark.
"This cursed black sword?"
He spun it once—effortless. It howled.
"Why don't you try and find out."
His grin widened.
"Come on… God of the Abyss."
Knull's pupils thinned. Rage—and fear—spilled across his stolen face.
"A mere mortal…."His voice dropped several octaves.
"This body may not hold much after what I'm about to do…"
Then his expression warped—jaw unhinging slightly, shadow pouring from his sockets.
"This won't be a death—it'll be a curse that shatters every drop of your lineage."
He raised his arms.
The world around them trembled.
Then snapped.
The sky blinked out. The trees. The earth.
Everything.
Gone.
Replaced by a field of pitch, endless and devouring.
There was no sky. No up. No down.
Only the heartbeat of an ancient thing.
Pulsing.
Breathing.
Living.
Then Knull's voice echoed from every direction at once.
"This is my home, human. My place of power."
The darkness shifted—faces whispering from the void, stars dying in reverse.
"This… is the Heart of the Dreaming."
A pause.
"Reality here conforms to my wishes. It is what I wish it to be—no more. No less."
Suddenly—impact.
Massive barrages of shadow-forged javelins rained from every direction, slamming toward Kaleus with god-killing speed. Razor-sharp tendrils snapped like serpents from the walls of the void, trying to pierce through him.
But—
CLANG.
SLASH.
BOOM.
Kaleus parried every one.
His cursed blade howled through the dark like a banshee, slashing through the tendrils, reflecting the javelins back into the abyss. His eyes were closed—focused. Every movement surgical. Intentional.
He was a man possessed by calm fury.
Knull laughed again—louder, richer, darker.
"Yes… YES. I haven't enjoyed a fight like this in ages…"
But then—
He stepped forward.
And Vorun's body peeled away like ash.
Revealing the true form of Knull.
He stood towering—ten feet tall, carved from obsidian shadow. His skin shimmered like liquid night, covered in ancient runes that moved like blood beneath glass.
From his back sprouted six wings—not feathered, but made of black tendrils stitched with dying stars. His hair flowed wild and void-black, reaching his knees, alive with whispers.
His face was hollow-beautiful. High cheekbones, sharp jaw, and no eyes—only empty sockets pouring mist. A crown of jagged horns spiraled backward from his skull, humming with raw void energy.
And his voice?
It no longer echoed.
It reverberated through existence itself.
Kaleus stared back—his face cold, unshaken.
Then—
He took a stance.
Blade behind him, left hand forward, body low and still.
The kind of stance meant to kill gods.