Even The Gods Fear My Return
Chapter Three: Ashes of a Broken Oath
The sky wept gold and bled crimson, transforming the very fabric of the universe into a breathtaking tapestry of ominous hues. Gold droplets streamed down like molten metal, merging with the deep crimson that spread like a foreboding omen across the horizon, painting the heavens in a mesmerizing yet terrifying display. Clouds spiraled in unnatural, unpredictable patterns, their shapes writhing and twisting as if caught in the throes of divine turbulence that shook both air and earth alike. The winds screamed with a primal ferocity—not fueled by rage, but rather echoing an urgent warning. Across the mortal realm, temples trembled on their foundations; ancient idols that had withstood the test of time began to crack and fracture, as if the very essence of faith was being siphoned away. The faithful, gripped by a gnawing sense of impending doom, clutched their chests in panic as if trying to hold their hearts in place against the chaos unfurling around them. Something ancient and profoundly powerful had risen from the depths of oblivion—something that had lingered too long in the shadows and should have remained buried forever.
In the eerie, dead silence of the Silent Expanse, a landscape steeped in legends where gods had once executed their unspoken sins and hidden desires, Kazuren strode forward, each step deliberate and laden with purpose. The ground, once stable and solid, curled away from his feet in a serpentine manner, warping in response to a presence that resonated with an unbearable intensity. His very presence scorched ancient runes into the earth, with symbols pulsing rhythmically, echoing lost languages and forbidden powers that had long been forgotten. Every step he took reverberated through the air like the weight of prophecy—measured, unstoppable, and radiating an unmistakable finality that heralded a dramatic shift in the balance of fate.
Before him, the Thorn Gate loomed ominously, a ruin that seemed to pulse with untold history. Crafted from celestial bone, dark obsidian stone, and chained divinity, it bore the marks of countless triumphs and tragedies. It had sealed realms from one another, held back devastating wars, and imprisoned unspeakable monsters that wandered the darkest corners of creation. And amid all its ancient magnificence, it had held him—Kazuren, the once-forgotten architect of chaos.
With an air of exquisite determination, Kazuren lifted his hand high. His fingers, once shackled by the cruel bonds of fate, now moved with divine authority that radiated strength and purpose. The air thickened around him, suffocating yet alive, and then split apart with a brittle fracture that resonated like breakable glass. Ancient glyphs, guardians of secrets from ages past, screamed and writhed as they unraveled into oblivion, the final locks holding dominion over this realm reduced to mere whispers and fleeting sparks of light.
In a split second, the gate shattered—not with a thunderous roar, but with a profound silence so complete that it felt as if death itself had taken a breath and paused for a heartbeat, marking the end of an era.
The reckoning had no need to announce itself; it arrived quietly, like a storm building on the horizon.
Suddenly, the ground trembled beneath Kazuren's feet, a deep, primal reaction to the forces being unleashed. From the shadows behind the gate, something immense stirred—a being of unimaginable power. It was not a mere beast nor a god in the traditional sense. It was a Warden, a towering juggernaut forged and honed by the hands of twelve gods, constructed from the very fabric of divine law, tempered in the eternal fires of creation, and bound with the living marrow of long-extinct titans. Its presence commanded awe and dread; its eyes were profound white voids that swallowed hope and its voice resonated like an avalanche of booming judgment that echoed through the realm.
"YOU ARE A STAIN UPON EXISTENCE," it declared, each word infused with the weight of divine authority, aimed squarely at the one who had dared disrupt the ancient order.
Kazuren did not so much as blink. His resolve remained unshaken as he regarded the great Warden before him. "Then let me remind you," he spoke softly yet with an electric intensity that charged the air around him, "what true existence feels like."
In an instant, the Warden lunged forward with the fury of the cosmos.
The sky cracked above them as if the heavens themselves were in pain. Mountains buckled under the titanic force that surged forth, trembling as thunder coiled around its fists like a serpent ready to strike.
Kazuren raised a single hand—not in a gesture of defense but in an act of command that resonated with the weight of ages. From his palm, a spiral of black flame burst forth, coiling upward with a mesmerizing elegance that seemed both silent and absolute. This flame moved with the haunting memory of every betrayal and every lie crafted by the divine, every whispered curse that lingered in the air. As it tore through the Warden's charge, it felt as though destiny itself was being realized.
One breath was all it took. One flame, and one unassailable truth.
The Warden detonated before him, erupting into a radiant explosion of light and ash, scattering the remnants of its existence like autumn leaves in the wind.
Then, silence returned. But it was no longer the oppressive silence of death that hung heavy in the air; it was a silence steeped in reverence. A reverent fear gripped the realm as gods watched from their lofty thrones, unmoving and transfixed by the sight of a man they had once erased—now walking freely once more, an unbroken spirit re-emerging into the world.
In the distant reaches of the realms, within the Hall of Echoes where divine prophecies were etched eternally into unyielding stone, a quill snapped mid-stroke—its ink spilling uselessly across the surface. Moments later, without a single hand daring to touch it, a message ignited into the wall with a ferocity that sent ripples through time itself:
He walks again.
To be continued...