PROLOUGE
1,027 years ago… KABOOM!
The earth trembled as screams tore through the night. Eyes turned skyward and there, the heavens split apart like a wounded beast. From the rift poured a storm of blinding light, roaring thunder, and fire that bled across the stars.
It was as if creation itself had been ripped open. The air tasted of ash and blood. Shadows writhed against the brilliance, and for a single, terrible moment, the world held its breath.
Then came the panic. The ground shook with the stampede of the living. Cries overlapped mothers calling for children, prayers collapsing into curses. Their voices rose together, an orchestra of despair, a wailing hymn to an uncaring sky.
From that celestial wound descended beings of impossible beauty radiant forms cloaked in flame and silence. They called themselves gods. Their eyes burned with the calm of eternity, their wings unfurled like living fire.
But when they smiled, the truth was revealed. Their light scorched, their touch corrupted, and their whispers twisted the hearts of men.
They were no angels nor were they gods
They were god-damned devils heralds of the end, born from the carcass of heaven itself.
CHAPTER 1: CRUEL AND UNUSUAL
ATHAN'S POV
"I hate this. I hate this," I muttered, my voice barely audible over the roar of the river. The words tasted bitter, like ash ground into my tongue. My boots slipped on the slick stones, and I plunged into the freezing current.
The shock was immediate, brutal like a thousand knives stabbing into my flesh all at once. The cold wrapped around me with merciless claws, sinking into bone, gnawing at muscle, stealing the breath from my lungs. My chest seized, every gasp shallow and ragged, as if the river itself were trying to crush the air out of me. My skin burned with icy fire, a paradox of pain that made me thrash instinctively, though every movement only dragged me deeper into the torrent.
The current slammed me against jagged rocks, bruises blooming across my ribs and arms. My fingers scraped stone, nails tearing, knuckles splitting open as I clawed for purchase. The river showed no mercy it dragged me, twisted me, battered me, until I felt less like a man and more like a rag doll in the grip of some monstrous hand.
Hours of labor, the wood I had chopped, spun away in the torrent, vanishing downstream like offerings to a cruel god. I watched, hollow and helpless, as everything I had fought for was swallowed whole. My body screamed with pain, my mind with despair, and still the river roared on, indifferent to my suffering.
I ducked beneath the surface and screamed, the sound strangled and devoured by the water. My voice broke into nothing, swallowed whole by the current, leaving me voiceless, powerless. The river pressed in from all sides, crushing my chest, stealing the air from my lungs. My arms flailed uselessly, heavy and numb, as if the water itself had shackled me.
Rage and despair coiled inside me like serpents as I dragged myself to the river bank, tightening, suffocating, until I thought my ribs might crack beneath their grip.
Then rustling. A whisper in the bushes. My self-loathing shattered, replaced by a primal alertness. My hand shot toward the axe at my side, but I was too slow.
A flash of black. Cold, merciless eyes. A blade tore into my throat.
Pain exploded sharp, wet, final. Blood gushed hot and violent, spilling over his hands, painting them crimson. His expression was void, mechanical, as if killing me were nothing more than a chore. My vision collapsed into darkness.
Then light. Breath. Agony.
I woke with a gasp, lungs burning, clutching my throat. The wound was gone, but the pain lingered, raw and unholy. It wasn't just flesh it was something deeper, spiritual, as if a sacred part of me had been ripped away. My throat felt both dry and drowning in blood, a paradox of torment. Tears came unbidden, hot and shameful. I curled inward, trembling, trying to hold myself together.
Panic clawed at me. Someone killed me. The thought thundered in my skull. I scrambled to my feet, vision swimming, heart pounding like war drums. My eyes swept the woods, desperate to find the figure in black. Fury surged how dare they? How dare they invade my solitude, my sanctuary, and end me like I was nothing?
Then I saw him.
Face down in the dirt. The same black cloak.
I approached slowly, axe drawn, every nerve screaming. I rolled him over with the hilt, forcing his broken body to face me. His skin was ashen, blood leaking from a jagged gash in his arm, an arrow buried deep in his leg. His breath rattled, shallow and uneven he was dying, and fast.
But I felt no pity.
Only a cold, rising hunger.
I pressed the axe head against his wound, grinding it into torn flesh just to watch him flinch. His eyes widened, terror flickering at last, and I savored it. He had stolen my breath, carved my throat, ended me and now I wanted him to feel every ounce of cruelty I could deliver.
"Why?" I hissed, leaning close, my voice sharp as the blade. "Why me? Why now? Why did death refuse to claim me, but not you?"
He tried to speak, but blood bubbled at his lips instead. I pushed harder, twisting the axe until his cry broke into a strangled gasp.
I wanted answers. But more than that I wanted him to suffer. To know that his attempt to erase me had failed, and that his own end would be slower, crueler, and far less merciful than mine.