THE FRACTURED THRONE
The sky had never looked this broken.
It was like the heavens themselves were bleeding. Veins of black lightning tore across the horizon, ripping the clouds into shreds. The sun pulsed red like a dying heart, and across every land, people raised their eyes in fear.
Zawish stood atop a ruined skyscraper, the wind howling around him, the Dar Metal glove glowing with ominous power. Cities beneath him trembled with sirens and screams. He had faced monsters, gods, and madness. But what was coming now… this was different. This was older than evil. This was Kallameth.
Long forgotten by even the most ancient of beings, Kallameth was once the ruler of a throne so powerful, its very existence had to be fractured and sealed beyond the limits of any known dimension. But someone, somehow, had found it again. The seals had broken. And now, Kallameth had returned.
Zawish felt it—his heartbeat slowed, syncing with the rhythm of the cracking sky. He didn't know if this would be his final stand, but every instinct in his body told him: this fight would end the story… one way or another.
On the other side of the world, deep underground in a bunker designed to withstand planetary extinction, the world's remaining leaders had gathered. The President of the United States, the Prime Minister of Japan, and even the Supreme Guardians of Orion-6 watched the skies darken from giant holo-screens.
"He's returned," muttered an old man in a long coat, his eyes sunken and voice trembling.
"Who?" asked a general.
"Kallameth. The Throne Breaker. The World-Eater. He doesn't want to conquer Earth. He wants to delete it."
Suddenly, every screen in the bunker went black, then flickered to life again—showing a single face.
It was him.
Kallameth stood tall, surrounded by swirling storms of shadow and flame. His armor looked forged from collapsing stars, and in his left hand he held a spear made of dying timelines, its tip vibrating with screams from the past.
"I do not come as a warning," he spoke, voice calm, smooth like velvet soaked in blood. "I come as consequence. Your world defied the balance. You gave birth to Dar Metal… and then a mistake was made. A guardian was forged when none should exist. A being named Zawish."
All around the world, people watched in frozen terror.
"In one hour," Kallameth said, "I will sit upon the throne of your Earth and rewrite it as ash."
The screens exploded. The countdown had begun.
Zawish didn't wait. He blasted into the sky like a meteor, trailing heat and fury. His glove pulsed, reading the fabric of reality and guiding him toward the rift—a torn portal between dimensions swirling with black and violet energies. He passed through without hesitation.
On the other side… the Dark Labyrinth.
A realm of shifting physics, collapsing structures, floating skulls the size of cities, and creatures that screamed in reverse. This was where Kallameth had made his palace. At its heart, a pulsing throne of cracked crystal sat suspended in anti-gravity.
"You made it," came the voice. "The Dar Metal brat."
Zawish floated forward slowly, fists clenched. "I don't care what you are. You're not taking this world."
Kallameth grinned and pointed his spear. "No, child. I already have. I'm just here to erase you first."
The battle began.
Kallameth rushed like a hurricane, spear thrusting in a blur of light and shadows. Zawish blocked with his glove, the clash of Dar Metal and Timeline Steel ringing like thunder. With each strike, mountains in the Labyrinth collapsed. Stars bent. Time paused and resumed.
Zawish punched with the power of a thousand gods, but Kallameth shrugged it off, laughing.
"I was forged in dimensions your mind cannot perceive," he mocked. "I was fed by chaos. I am the alpha entropy!"
"You're also loud," Zawish grunted, ducking a strike and firing a blast from his glove that vaporized a hundred kilometers of darkness.
They fought across floating cathedrals of pain, over lakes of screaming souls, through the memories of dead galaxies. And still neither could claim victory.
Kallameth stabbed through Zawish's shoulder. Blood sprayed, glowing with divine energy.
"You bleed. So you can die," Kallameth sneered.
Zawish spat and wiped the blood from his mouth. "Yeah, but I also punch."
He slammed his fist into Kallameth's helmet, cracking it like glass. The dark god reeled.
They crashed into the Heart of the Labyrinth, where the Fractured Throne pulsed like a living wound. Zawish knew what he had to do. The throne was the source. If he could overload it with Dar Metal energy, he might just destroy Kallameth… even if it killed him too.
"You'll destroy yourself!" Kallameth roared.
"Maybe," Zawish said, placing his hand on the throne. "But I'll take you with me."
The throne screamed.
Every being in the multiverse felt it—the roar of power, the cry of a god, the agony of sacrifice.
Kallameth lunged, but too late.
Zawish unleashed everything. The Dar Metal glove exploded with light. A beam of energy so powerful it sliced through dimensions fired from his soul. It struck the throne, which shattered into a million shards, dragging Kallameth into a vortex of collapse.
"You can't…" Kallameth whispered as he was torn apart.
Zawish smiled weakly. "Guess I can."
The throne imploded, pulling Kallameth in. But so too went Zawish.
The Labyrinth collapsed.
Silence.
On Earth, the sky cleared.
People emerged from shelters. The stars returned to their places. And for the first time in years, the world felt peace.
But there was no sign of Zawish.
Not even the glove remained.
A week passed. A month.
Then, one night, in a quiet forest outside Chitral, a child looked up at the stars and saw a figure standing in the moonlight.
He wore no armor. No glove. But his eyes glowed.
Zawish was alive.
Weakened. Changed. But alive.
And somewhere deep in the multiverse… something darker stirred.