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The Rise of The Fallen Gods

bobbeh
21
chs / week
The average realized release rate over the past 30 days is 21 chs / week.
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Synopsis
A boy, known to most as just another ordinary Sequencer, finds his "fate" entangled with four beings shrouded in mystery, each one "destined" to alter his "fate", for better or for worse. In their meeting, the threads of "destiny" and "fate" begin to shift. This is the legend of, “Dawn.”
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Chapter 1 - Chapter 1 - Starlight

The First called for a meeting.

"Again?"

No one knew when or where this gathering took place. It existed outside of time, in a place beyond places, a void painted in starlight and silence.

Suspended in the abyss was a magnificent golden table, its surface rippling with faint constellations, as though the stars themselves had been hammered into its design. Around it hovered thirteen chairs of the same impossible metal, arranged in a perfect circle that neither spun nor stood still.

Upon those thrones sat thirteen beings. Their forms flickered between shape and essence, gods, or perhaps something far older. Each carried a presence so vast it bent the light around them. Some glowed like suns, others burned cold as dead stars.

The First, seated at what could loosely be called the head of the circle, rested his hands upon the table. When he spoke, his voice did not travel through air or sound, it rippled through existence itself.

"It is time," he said. "The Tower Archons will awaken again."

A low murmur drifted through the assembly. The Thirteenth, wreathed in silver flame and shadow, leaned lazily back in his chair, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

"You call us here to speak of those bastards again, brother? The last time you said such a thing, they never appeared."

The First's golden eyes opened, and every star in the void seemed to shudder.

Across the table, the Second stirred. Half-asleep, he reclined in his chair, his form wrapped in a drifting haze that looked almost like a cloud. His head rested on one arm as he yawned.

"Yawn... Why should we care?" he muttered. "They lost their power ages ago, back in the Era Before the Second Dawn."

The First turned his gaze toward him, the faint gleam of a star reflecting off his expressionless face.

"This time," he said, voice low and steady, "a foreigner descends."

Silence fell. Even the stars outside the void seemed to hold their breath.

Silence.

For a heartbeat, or something that felt like one, the void itself seemed to recoil. The light of distant galaxies dimmed, and the golden table groaned softly, as if the universe itself didn't like the sound of what had just been spoken.

The Third, robed in robes that rippled like liquid night, leaned forward, her eyes burning white-hot.

"A foreigner?" she hissed. "Impossible. The boundaries were sealed after the Collapse. No mortal or god from another realm should even see this one."

The Fourth, ever calm, brushed invisible dust from his sleeve. His skin flickered like polished obsidian, and his voice carried the weight of reason.

"Impossible," he repeated, "is a word the First abandoned long ago." He turned his eyes, galaxies spinning within them, toward the First. "You've seen proof?"

The First did not answer. He only stared into the starlit abyss beyond them.

That silence was enough.

The Fifth, radiant and terrible, slammed a hand against the table. Stars scattered across its surface like sparks.

"If one of them breaches the veil again, the balance will collapse! We barely survived the last interference!"

The Sixth, who appeared as a shifting mass of crystal and color, chuckled darkly. "Maybe that's what we need, a little collapse. The old rules are fadding."

The Seventh said nothing. She simply closed her eyes and began to hum, a sound that bent the air, weaving strange patterns of light that danced between the gods.

The Eighth, a towering figure of shadow pierced by streaks of molten gold, folded his arms. "You're all missing the point," he rumbled. "If a foreigner descends, it means the cycle is broken. And if the cycle breaks..."

He didn't finish. He didn't need to.

The Thirteenth, still lounging, finally leaned forward, his smirk gone.

"So. The end begins once again."

The First's gaze shifted toward him. His golden eyes flared like a sunrise tearing through darkness.

"No," he said quietly. "This time, it's not the end."

He looked beyond them, as though seeing something none of the others could.

"It's merely the beginning."