The Throne Hall of Black Light was silent again.
The last of the echoes from the slaughter had faded, replaced by a soundless rhythm — the slow, heartbeat-like pulse of eternity itself. Ashura sat upon his throne, one hand resting lazily beneath his chin, his gaze lost somewhere beyond the layers of existence. His aura was calm now, subdued, though every pulse of it still made the walls hum — as if the void itself sang in fear and reverence.
But even within that silence, he felt it.
Something ancient was stirring.
A tear opened in the void just beyond the Throne Hall — not a rift of corruption, but of divinity. It burned in gold and white, flaring against the black horizon like a wound in time. Out of it stepped a figure — tall, radiant, eyes like dying stars. His armor gleamed with inscriptions written in tongues that predated mortality.
Ashura's gaze didn't lift immediately. "I wondered when one of you would show yourselves."
The being's voice was deep, melodic, yet it carried venom. "I am Hadarion, the Fourth Blade of the All-Denying Father. I serve as his judgment upon anomalies… and you," he said, raising his spear of living fire, "are the gravest anomaly this cycle has ever produced."
Ashura finally rose from his throne. The chamber darkened instantly. The torches lining the void-walls went out one by one, leaving only the faint glow of his eyes. "Judgment, you say?"
Hadarion's wings unfurled — four pairs of radiant appendages made of celestial flame. "The Nameless One was meant to remain in eternal slumber. His throne was forbidden to mortals. You have taken it, and in doing so, disrupted the divine equilibrium. I am here to erase you."
Ashura tilted his head, his tone laced with quiet amusement. "Erase me? You think the throne of Black Light accepts your god's definitions?"
Hadarion's gaze hardened. "You are nothing but the echo of what should have died."
The two stood in silence — the Sovereign of Black Light and the Blade of the All-Denying Father.
Then the void trembled.
Reality warped around them, and in a breath, they were gone — cast into outer space, beyond stars and nebulae, into the field between galaxies where time was thin and matter dissolved. The stars flickered like distant embers, and gravity itself bent beneath their presence.
Hadarion raised his spear. His divine sigils ignited across his armor. "Four Sidax," he declared. "You will die knowing you faced a god who has shed eternity four times to perfect himself."
His aura exploded — radiant and crushing. Four halos manifested behind him, each representing a Sidax form, each burning brighter than a sun. The sheer weight of his divinity made the stars nearest them collapse into black lines.
Ashura's cloak rippled once. The darkness behind him began to coil, forming a horizon of mirrored light. His expression didn't change — only his right hand moved, calling his blade, Kuroha, to his grasp. The weapon pulsed faintly, eager, alive.
"Four Sidax," Ashura murmured. "And yet you kneel beneath another's will. Tell me, Hadarion… when was the last time you acted for yourself?"
"Blasphemer!" Hadarion roared, and the cosmos screamed with him. He lunged forward, spear thrusting with speed that tore the vacuum apart.
Ashura caught the strike with one hand.
For a moment, the universe held its breath.
Then came the shockwave.
Galaxies trembled as the force of that clash spread across light-years. Meteors disintegrated. The veil between realms wavered.
Ashura's hand burned, but his expression remained calm. He pushed the spear aside, his blade following in a black arc that tore through Hadarion's divine shield. Sparks of white and void collided, bursting like dying suns.
The god staggered back, eyes narrowing. "Impossible… how does a man withstand the might of four Sidax?"
Ashura smiled faintly. "Because I am not a man."
He vanished.
Reappeared behind Hadarion.
Kuroha came down like a judgment. The blade struck the god's back, slicing through his wings — two of them fell away in bursts of celestial flame. The scream that followed rippled through the void, shaking fragments of constellations from the sky.
Hadarion spun, his blood glowing like molten gold. He swung his spear, sending lances of condensed faith through the vacuum. Ashura raised his blade, splitting each beam mid-flight.
The god's fury erupted. "You think yourself above divinity, thief?! You think your false throne gives you power over us?! I am Hadarion, flame of the Father, the blade of His denial!"
Ashura's aura deepened. The black light behind him expanded, forming rings — each one a reflection of death, rebirth, and oblivion intertwined. His voice grew cold. "The Father denies because he fears. You worship denial… I govern it."
They clashed again.
Each blow was an apocalypse.
Each swing shattered the boundaries between existence.
The stars bled colors not meant to be seen. Fragments of time tore loose, replaying moments of creation and death in reverse.
Ashura's movements were perfect — sharp, minimal, without waste. Hadarion's strikes were divine, brutal, and desperate.
But the difference between them grew clearer with every second.
Hadarion fought with power he was given.
Ashura fought with power he became.
When the god activated his fourth Sidax, his body burned with absolute light, merging him with the void's horizon. His spear transformed, extending infinitely — a weapon meant to pierce creation itself.
Ashura met it with calm eyes. "So this is your limit."
He raised Kuroha.
And then his authority answered.
Black Light erupted from his blade — a pulse that silenced existence. The divine spear shattered on contact, reduced to ash and memory. Hadarion's Sidax forms crumbled one after another as if crushed under invisible weight.
The god screamed as his essence began to disintegrate.
"What—what are you?! What—"
Ashura stepped closer, eyes glowing with that dark luminance that bent truth and lie alike.
"I am the end that still begins," he said softly. "The rebirth of what even gods fear to die."
He drove Kuroha through Hadarion's chest.
The god's light flared once — then folded inward, collapsing into silence. His body dissolved into particles of black luminescence, scattered through the void like fading stars.
For a moment, there was peace again.
Ashura looked down at the remains, his expression unreadable. "Four Sidax… and still bound by chains."
He sheathed his blade, turning away. "Tell your Father in death what he already knows. I don't kneel to heaven… or hell."
The space around him mended itself. The scattered light drew inward, forming a single star that began to pulse with quiet warmth.
The birth of something new.
He looked at it for a long moment.
Even in destruction, there was creation.
That was the nature of his throne — death feeding rebirth, oblivion giving way to genesis.
Ashura whispered, almost to himself, "So this is what it means to govern balance."
He vanished, leaving only silence and a newborn star burning where a god once stood.
Back in the Throne Hall of Black Light, Everos appeared, kneeling. "My lord," he said, his voice calm but proud, "we sensed a divine collapse in the outer sphere. Shall I assume you've handled it?"
Ashura descended the last step of the dais, the faintest trace of a smirk on his lips. "Handled isn't the right word."
Everos tilted his head. "Then what word would you prefer, my lord?"
Ashura's gaze lifted, looking through the endless veil of the hall — through galaxies and realms beyond. "Correction," he said simply.
The void pulsed once, like a heartbeat.
Ashura sat once more upon the throne, resting his chin on his hand, his expression serene yet unyielding. "The All-Denying Father will come soon. He will not accept what I am."
Everos bowed deeply. "Then the cycle shall tremble again."
Ashura's smile returned, faint and cold. "Let it. I've made peace with tremors. They remind the cosmos that something greater still breathes."
And as he spoke, far beyond mortal sight, divine eyes watched from the unreachable heavens — eyes that once governed creation itself.
They blinked in hesitation.
Because the last thing they expected from a mortal-born Sovereign… was fear returned to the gods themselves.