The silence after divinity's death is the truest sound in the Void.
The Watcher's body convulsed before me, its form a cathedral of bone and cosmic nerves twisting in agony. Fractured light poured from its eyes like molten stars, and every pulse that escaped it made the air quake. I stood amidst its dying halo, black blood dripping from my hand, steam rising from the cracks in my skin.
The battlefield — if it could still be called that — had collapsed into a landscape of ruin and resonance. The fractured skies of the Void trembled; every shadow, every echo of a scream lingered like a dying god's prayer.
They were still watching — the mortals, the demigods, the watchers beyond the realms — all seeing the impossible unfold.
The Watcher's single surviving head turned toward me, the remaining eye a sphere of fractured infinity. From its sundered throat came a sound not of voice but of memory, vibrating through the marrow of creation itself.
[Zhæl'thur vrei'nath Azael'ith]
(The Black King rises.)
I felt the meaning crawl into me, ancient and invasive. The world itself seemed to kneel — even the dying stars dimmed in reverence.
The Watcher's wings unfurled, collapsing into ribbons of shadow and radiance. Its once-immortal form now resembled a dying sun god begging for release.
[Kha'rel'thu vaen'nar vri'shael]
(The Mirror Sun remembers its brother.)
A crack formed in the heavens — not light, but reflection.
The Black Sun, my dominion, pulsed once… and then its light inverted. The sky became glass. The Void itself turned into a mirror.
And within that reflection — I saw another sun.
A twin.
Paler. Hungering.
A Mirror Sun, burning with silver fire.
For one eternal heartbeat, all creation stood still.
The mirror rippled. Something vast moved behind it — a hand.
Not flesh. Not energy. Something older than both.
It reached for me.
Every being still conscious — mortals, gods, monsters — fell into a trance. Eyes rolled white, and their mouths began to open in unison, speaking a language none had ever heard.
[Vael'tarus nareth'dhul… Azael'ith ser'kai…]
(The Second Star remembers… The First King awaits…)
They spoke as one.
The sound was harmony and horror combined.
Their voices became one endless, trembling chord of divine dread.
Then the prophecy continued — a rhythm so ancient it broke the world beneath it.
[Khral'noth vae'thera Azael'ith, sha'reth el'dun…]
(When the Black King claims his throne, the world of suns shall bleed…)
They chanted louder, flesh vibrating, eyes liquefying into streams of light.
I did not move.
I did not speak.
I simply watched.
The Watcher lifted its head once more. Its face split open, revealing rows of crystal teeth — each one engraved with shifting runes. It was smiling.
"Your brother awakens, Azael Voidborn."
Its voice was not sound anymore. It was resonance — pure and violent.
For the first time, something cold moved behind my chest. Recognition — faint, incomplete — but real.
Brother?
The Watcher trembled and spoke again:
[Vaen'thor el'dral Azael'ith.]
(The Brother King stirs beneath the Mirror Sun.)
Its wings snapped apart — and the sound shattered every echo in existence.
The Watcher laughed once, a sound that tore its body apart, and from that laughter came the final cascade of prophecy.
[Ka'reth sul vri'zael…]
(The throne is not yours alone…)
Then the mortals' chant returned, louder, unified, unbearable.
They spoke the same words as the Watcher —
their tongues dissolving into ash,
their eyes bursting into light,
their bodies melting, layer by layer, as the Mirror Sun began to dim.
Their skin dripped like black wax.
Their bones turned to crystal, then dust.
Their souls—song.
All of them fell silent at once, leaving only smoke and whispers.
I stood amidst the melting ruin, surrounded by death and resonance. My breath fogged the air.
My shadow pulsed.
Above me, the Mirror Sun's hand reached again — then stopped.
It hovered inches away from my face, its reflection perfect.
And then — as if remembering something ancient — it withdrew.
The mirror rippled, light folding in on itself, and the Black Sun reclaimed the sky.
Silence fell.
The Watcher's remains levitated, its mouth now a single glowing eye.
"Your ascension has begun," it said, or thought, or sang.
"But you are not yet whole."
I stepped closer, voice calm, regal, resonant.
"Then let the world tremble until I am."
The Watcher's eye dimmed. Its body folded inwards, turning into dust and sigils that spun into the air like burning scripture.
And then came the whisper.
The Void Codex opened in my mind — a book of lightless thought. Its voice was the breath of the first abyss.
[Vael'tarus zha'rel…]
(The Second Star remembers…)
My vision blurred. A symbol formed in the air before me — not the Black Sun, but a sigil of silver flame interlocked with shadow.
A resonance unlike any before.
A name, ancient and impossible, carved itself into the Void.
Vael'tarus.
I whispered it, and the word shook the world.
The Black Sun dimmed, the Mirror Sun flickered in reflection, and for a moment both bled into one another — black and silver, two halves of creation's wound.
The Codex's voice faded with a final murmur.
[Azael'ith ser'kai… Vael'tarus nareth'dhul…]
(The First King ascends… The Second remembers…)
Silence followed — the kind that only comes when reality itself hesitates to breathe.
And I stood there, alone in the dark that worshiped me.
The beginning of godhood had truly begun.
End of Chapter 14 — "The Watcher's Judgment (Final Part)"