In the war chamber, silence battled panic. The Warlords, Kings, and Queens of Deatheny—who had once marched across galaxies, toppling civilizations like playthings—could not comprehend what their eyes now witnessed.
They had conquered countless worlds. And yet… never had they seen this.
Some had already surrendered to despair, falling to their knees, muttering the old warrior's oath for a dignified death. Others raged in denial, clawed fingers tightening on the edges of the table as though brute strength could anchor them against inevitability.
"How?" one of the Queens rasped, her voice trembling beneath the chamber's mechanical hum. "How can a nation as vast as ours… fall so quickly? To enemies we do not even know—why they came, when we offended them, or how they wield such impossible power?"
The Leader rose slowly, his braided horns casting long shadows across the chamber's walls. His white eyes burned with something heavier than rage—recognition. "Do you remember," he asked, his voice steady but cold, "the blue star planet we invaded, cycles ago?"
A King raised his head, blinking through the haze of despair. "The one in the… Milky Way?"
The Leader nodded. "In their ruins, among their archives, we found a book." His claws tapped the table slowly, the sound sharp in the silence. "A tale they called… scripture. Of a being they named God. And servants called… angels."
The chamber stilled. Those who remembered the book shuddered, the echoes of half-forgotten pages surfacing like ghosts.
In its final chapters, angels descended from the sky, enacting what the mortals called divine judgment—a reckoning upon sinners.
A Queen's lips trembled as she whispered, "Are these invaders… the myths of that tale?"
A Warlord let out a hollow laugh, bitter and broken. "What else could they be?"
One of the youngest among them, desperate for even a fragment of hope, cried out: "Then how did the tale end? The mortals must have resisted—fought back somehow! There must have been a way!"
But the silence that followed was its own answer.
One by one, hope drained from their eyes. The proud conquerors who had once dreamed of ruling the cosmos dropped to their knees, arrogance eroding into acceptance. Their thoughts turned not to triumph, but to the end awaiting them.
And then the projection shifted.
The mighty dragon of lightning, its roar splitting the heavens, descended upon the capital. Its breath unleashed a torrent of divine fury, ripping through their most impenetrable fortress—the war chamber they had once envisioned as the throne of a future empire.
The walls quaked. Cracks spiderwebbed through the alloy. The chamber trembled as if the planet itself had been condemned.
Their final sight was blinding brilliance—a storm of lightning tearing reality apart, crashing through stone, steel, and pride alike.
And then… nothing.
The war chamber of Deatheny, and the rulers who once dreamed of dominion, were no more.
The vision collapsed like a crumbling fortress, the dragon's roar still echoing in Ezmelral's ears as she gasped, staggering back as if the blast had seared her own skin. Her small chest heaved, wide eyes reflecting the phantom lightning that had devoured a world's mightiest in an instant, the horror clinging to her like smoke.
She turned, expecting Raiking's steady presence to anchor her—but found his gaze locked elsewhere. Not on the ruins, not on the dragon's fading shadow, but on the little girl strapped to the hospital bed in that sterile room of wires and machines, her helmet humming faintly amid the clinical glow.
Ezmelral froze, a chill slithering down her spine. That child... the one she'd dismissed as backdrop before... why was Raiking staring at her like that, his crimson eyes burning with a depth she'd never seen?
No, it wasn't just him—the GodKing had noticed too, his armored form beginning to float downward toward the open roof, shattered by the clashes of battle, debris still raining like confetti from hell.
This was the first time Raiking had ventured this far in the time sequence... he thought, a flicker of hope stirring in his chest. Maybe... with Ezmelral here, I can hold back. But as the GodKing drew closer to the girl, Raiking's once-still heart thudded—a loud, insistent thump that shocked him, anxiety flooding in like a breach in a dam, his fists clenching involuntarily.
Just as he tensed to move forward, a tiny hand grabbed his, pulling him back. "Raiking!" Ezmelral called, her voice piercing the haze, worry etching her young face.
He turned to her, gritting his teeth against the storm raging inside, her gentle eyes meeting his—wide, pleading, a lifeline in the torrent of regret.
In his mind, Eidolon finally stirred, its voice a sly whisper coiling through the chaos. What will you do now? Shatter those innocent eyes that look to you for salvation... or summon the courage to rewrite fate?
Ezmelral tugged again, confusion deepening her frown. "Why aren't you replying? Raiking—please!"
The plea hit him like a blade to the chest, her desperation mirroring echoes of losses long buried. He unclenched his fists, drawing a deep, shuddering breath to steady the whirlwind within.
"I'm here," he said, his voice rough, strained. "We must go."
"But why?" she pressed, glancing at the descending GodKing. "Who is that girl? Why is he approaching her?"
Raiking reached for her shoulder, his touch a spark to whisk them away—but nothing happened. The scene held firm, unyielding.
Then a voice echoed—not his, but a woman's, resonant and wise: the Keeper of Time and Fate. Since you've finally taken this step forward, she intoned, her presence a gentle pressure in the air, you must see it through to the end.
Ezmelral gasped, her finger shooting out to point. Below, the GodKing's armored boots touched the shattered roof, debris still raining like ash around him. Without hesitation, he reached the bed and lifted the child into his arms. The helmet slipped free, clattering to the floor.
Ezmelral's breath caught. The girl's face—her face—stared back up at her, wide-eyed, fragile, innocent. Not a reflection, not a resemblance. A perfect mirror.
"Why… why does she look like me?" Ezmelral whispered, her voice trembling as the world tilted beneath her.
The GodKing turned, his gaze cutting through the veil of time, locking onto Raiking. His voice rolled like colliding stars.
"I do not know who this child is. Nor why she wears your disciple's face. I care nothing for your reasons, nor for the future you trespass from. But as I drew near her, I felt it—your intent to strike me down."
He let the silence stretch, heavy and unyielding, then his tone shifted, curious and cruel all at once:
"Since the first day I glimpsed your shadow in the Great Temple, I have wondered: Which holds true dominion? The past… or the future?"
His form shimmered, edges bleeding into light and shadow as he cradled the child, reality folding around him. Just before he vanished, Raiking's voice cut the air—low, steady, edged with quiet wrath.
"You will regret taking her."
The GodKing's rumble lingered like thunder after lightning:
"I regret nothing that promises a good fight."
And then he was gone, leaving only a ripple in the sky—an echo that refused to fade.
Below, the Lightning Dragon coiled through the capital, its roar splitting towers into molten ruin as Shona rode its head, his five spears carving arcs of devastation. The once-proud city dissolved into a storm of fire, plasma, and screams.
One by one, the GodKing's army dematerialized—vanishing in flashes of light, scattering like seeds on the wind. The purge was not over. It had only begun.
Ezmelral stood frozen, the girl's face—her face—seared into her mind. "What… what does this mean?" she whispered.
Raiking said nothing. His crimson eyes stayed fixed on the horizon, where the storm of truths yet to come gathered like thunderclouds.