The Blood Ball—a condensed sphere of fallen Entities' essence—drifted downward, its crimson surface glinting with a dark, liquid luminescence. It hovered before the God-King for a heartbeat, then descended toward the Sacred Tree. Like a stone dropped into a still lake, it phased through the ancient trunk, sending ripples of silent power coursing through its form.
A surge ignited within the Tree—raw, untamed, alive. Energy flared through every branch and root, the void itself quivering beneath its awakening. Slowly, the Sacred Tree tore free from the abyssal ground, rising to hover above the God-King and the vast portal below.
Then, in a burst of light and motion, it began to unmake itself. Each limb dissolved into streams of luminous fragments that wove together, condensing, reshaping—until only a single object remained.
The Empty Sheathe.
It drifted downward, coming to rest in the God-King's open palm. His fingers closed around it with reverent stillness. His first and only friend. His brother. Now reborn as a vessel of retribution—a silent vow carved in sacrifice:
Where you go, I will follow.
Your wrath shall be my purpose.
---
Within the Vein of Time, Ezmelral's gaze lingered on the sheathe at Raiking's waist. Its origin was now laid bare. And as she looked back upon the God-King below, the parallel was undeniable—the man and the myth, joined by loss and consequence.
The God-King raised the sheathe skyward, its hollow mouth aimed at the abyssal ceiling.
From its depths, an unending torrent of roots erupted. They brushed past him like a living tide, surging through the Void Portal in a flood of divine motion.
Outside, the roots burst forth from Planet Eden, threading through Eidolon's grasp like rivers through a titan's hand. They swam across the cosmic expanse—serpentine currents against the star-dusted dark.
Worlds looked up to witness the miracle: celestial rivers of roots streaming across their skies. And as each world watched in awe, a single root would break away, descending in silence to strike its surface with a soundless impact—burrowing deep, straight to the planetary core.
There, at the heart of each world, the roots descended Planetary Scale Seeds of Corruption. They did not destroy them, but devoured them, transforming their essence into a new, fertile soil from which Individual Seeds of Corruption would now sprout.
---
As this cosmic transformation commenced, the Void Realm churned with a palpable unease. From the abyssal ground, soulless bodies emerged in a grim procession—an assembly of the damned. The King of Gomorrah, the Queen of Sodom, PraLumunix Commanders, Deathany leaders—every incarnation of evil that had orchestrated mortal suffering materialized, their lifeless forms piling high in a macabre tableau.
The God-King's voice thundered across the darkness, each word a decree etched into the fabric of existence with unyielding authority: "The Void Realm is now sealed for eternity. It shall serve as the endless hell of the Cosmos—the eternal maw where the wicked are reborn only to be devoured again."
A low, guttural laugh rolled from the shadows, the sound reverberating through the Void Realm like a serpent's hiss. The Void Emperor's massive eye narrowed to a razor-slit, its gaze piercing the darkness with venomous intent.
"And who are you," it hissed, its voice dripping with scorn, "to claim the right to decree eternity?"
Raiking's reply was calm—absolute, a statement carved from the bedrock of his will. "I am your God-King."
A derisive cackle slithered through the air, the Void Emperor's mockery curling like acrid smoke. "You declare yourself above all. Yet here you play favorites! You reward those you deem 'good' and punish those born in darkness. Where is the leadership in that?"
"Fairness is a phantom," the God-King countered, his voice slicing through the taunts with surgical precision. "There is no inherent goodness—only the choices we forge. Evil clings to that illusion to justify its own existence."
"We were never given a choice!" the Void Emperor's voice rose, sharp with a desperate, jagged edge. "We were born of darkness. To not feed was to perish. Are we not allowed to live?"
"You've fed on mortal corpses for so long you've begun to think like them," the God-King replied, raising his hand, the faint gleam of divine wrath illuminating his unarmored face. "Remember your place, Void Being. You are a cosmic phenomenon—a hunger given form. The Cosmos does not deal in right or wrong, only in consequences. Your species had an option: self-annihilation for the greater good. You chose self-preservation. Now, the debt is due."
He turned toward the portal, his cloak flowing like a banner of finality, a silent proclamation of his judgment. Behind him, the Void Emperor's voice erupted in a final, venomous shriek, "Every soul you send makes us stronger! These shackles will not hold forever, God-King! When they break, you will learn the meaning of true judgment!"
The God-King did not look back. He stepped through the shimmering gateway, and with a soft whoosh, the Void Realm closed behind him, sealing its new eternal purpose—a prison of torment for the wicked, left to its dark fate under his unyielding decree.
---
Once outside, the God-King's gaze fell upon a lone figure standing amid the ruins—a man with five arms, a living testament to his half-mortal, half-Entity bloodline. His mother's pale skin mingled with his father's darker hue beneath the dim light, marking him as something singular—a bridge between two worlds.
It was Shona.
His eyes sought answers from the uncle who had reshaped creation itself, struggling to reconcile the devastation around him with the necessity of divine will. Then his gaze shifted—and froze.
Beside the God-King, within the crystalline coffin, lay Ezmelral's lookalike—the disciple whose death had kindled this storm. Her face, serene and untouched by decay, glowed faintly within the translucent shell.
In that instant, understanding struck him like a blade. The answers were all there, cruel and complete.
"Uncle…" Shona began, his voice breaking under the weight of unspoken grief.
In a blur of movement, the God-King stood beside him. A steady hand came to rest upon Shona's shoulder—a gesture that carried both command and farewell.
"The throne is yours now," Raiking said, his tone resolute yet softened by quiet pride.
"You are their King."
Before Shona could respond, Raiking's form began to dissolve—light unraveling from his edges, dispersing like mist beneath the morning sun.
"Uncle!" he called, spinning, searching the empty horizon—
but there was only silence.
Then, from the vastness of the cosmos, a whisper reached him—gentle, fading, eternal:
"You made me proud, Shona."
The words lingered in the still air, a final echo of a bond forged in fire and sacrifice.
Alone amid the shattered world, Shona bowed his head. The crown of responsibility settled upon him—not as metal or title, but as legacy.
The reign of the new King had begun.