[: 3rd POV :]
In a realm beyond the veil of mortal understanding, there existed a dominion where even light dared not linger, a place where the void bled with ruin and stars wept ashes.
The atmosphere was thick with despair, a suffocating miasma of destruction and power.
And at the center of this apocalyptic throne realm, atop a mountain of fractured realities, sat the Apocalypse Sovereign.
His throne was forged from the bones of dead gods, his presence shrouded by an eternal eclipse.
His chest bore a single, jagged mark, a sword wound that refused to heal, shimmering faintly with remnants of a mortal's essence.
The Sovereign's hand clenched around the armrest, and his voice thundered through the void.
"I'll find that mortal and kill him with my own hands!"
The sound of his fury alone caused the nearest constellation to shatter.
Entire galaxies convulsed, imploding under the pressure of his wrath.
