Chapter Five
Vastro hadn't intended to fully destroy the Primordial.
He wanted to give him a chance at reincarnation, if his soul could even reach the No Realm. But in his fit of annoyance, he had used slightly more power than necessary, erasing the Primordial entirely from existence.
Vastro exhaled. His life had been extraordinary, a constant pursuit of breaking every chain.... death, life, fate, destiny, and countless others.
He had shattered limits, conquered realms, and now he stood just a step away from absolute freedom.... from being free even of existence itself. Yet he knew that threshold had never been crossed, never been broken.
He wondered what it would feel like to become the most powerful being in all eight realms. And here he was, the strongest slayer, the ultimate usurper, and what did he feel? Nothing. Pure boredom. His life, despite its grandeur, felt empty, miserable even.
He wasn't the only one. A few others had won against the True Eternals. By now, over twenty usurpers wielded their existential domains, spreading their influence through the limitless void of the realms.
But peace was never meant to last. The usurpers had long grown wary of Vastro. Unlike his friend Drakkon, who was measured and controlled, Vastro was the opposite: uproar, destruction, chaos.... he caused trouble simply because it amused him.
And the thought that he could defeat them in battle and seize their powers only made them more cautious. They devised a strategy, a plan to take him down before his uncontrolled energy destabilized the Eighth Realm.
Vastro found himself challenged by four different usurpers, each wielding mastery over a distinct conceptual law. They expected him to hesitate, to falter, to shrink from the fight.
They believed the battle's outcome was inevitable. It wasn't a question of whether they could kill him.... it was a question of how long it would take, assuming he was even foolish enough to accept.
But Vastro did. Whistling a carefree tune, a grin stretching across his face like he had just unwrapped the perfect gift, he accepted their challenge.
The Eternal Conquest that followed drew the largest crowd in history. Beings from all eight realms gathered, curious, awed, fearful, to witness this unprecedented clash.
Standing opposite him were four usurpers, each wielding complete mastery over a different conceptual law. Their mere presence radiated an oppressive chill, forcing every being gathered to lower their voices and breathe in hushed fear.
Many believed the battle would be a one sided slaughter.
There was no way a single usurper could face four and survive. No matter how absurdly powerful Vastro had proven himself to be, no matter that every corner of the realms whispered his name in dread, it was still impossible. At least, that was what everyone believed. Everyone except one.
Seated apart from the crowd, in a reserved space meant only for usurpers who chose to observe, sat the most handsome man present.
He looked human, yet he was anything but. Every breath he took seemed to pull the world toward him, and every breath he released scattered divine essence through the air. Every usurper present showed him respect.
This was Drakkon Valerion.
Ruler of Order.
Best friend of Vastro.
And the one also known as the Ruler of Chaos, though that was only one of his countless titles.
Beside him hovered a seamless entity with no body, no soul, not even a spirit. It existed by using the air itself to convey meaning.
"You know every usurper here," the entity asked. "Who do you think will win?"
Authuris, the first True Supreme Dragon, leaned forward slightly. "How long do you think your friend will last?"
Drakkon glanced at them, his face calm, warm, unreadable as ever. He answered with a single word.
"Death."
The others frowned. "Everyone knows Vastro will die. What we are asking is how long he will last."
Another usurper, its form made of shifting ash that mimicked every being at the table, spoke next.
Drakkon shook his head, a faint, almost amused smile tugging at his lips. "You misunderstand me. I mean their death. Those four should welcome it, because there is no chance they will bring Vastro down."
None of them believed him. Even though Drakkon wielded the Law of Knowledge and understood their abilities better than anyone, it still sounded impossible. They doubted him.
Until the battle began.
And then they doubted no more.
The fight was short, yet it lasted for eons. When it ended, Vastro stood alone. His body was brutally wounded, bloodied, torn apart in places, but the manic grin on his face made it clear he had enjoyed every second of it.
The four usurpers begged when they realized they could not win. They should have blamed their luck. Vastro was the most ruthless being in existence.
He erased them without hesitation, usurping their domains and devouring their power, pushing his already monstrous existence even further beyond reason.
After that day, no one dared challenge him again. The usurpers retreated into themselves, guarding their domains in silence. None wished to suffer the same fate as those unfortunate four.
It had taken them countless sacrifices, endless struggles, and unthinkable effort to reach their current heights. There was no chance they would throw it all away, only to become another meal for the ruler of the abyss.
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Vastro had sunk into another long stretch of boredom.
For what felt like eons, he had been trapped in that maddening stillness, each moment slower than the last. Then, finally, a flicker of news reached him.... a spark of interest. The remaining usurpers were on the move. Fourteen of them, still clinging to their domains, their powers, and their armies.
Even the Abyss, his domain, now seemed almost cramped beneath the weight of their combined forces.
The rebellion should have been dreadful, terrifying even. But Vastro didn't feel fear. He felt energy, excitement, a spark of fun he hadn't felt in ages.
Finally, a real challenge.
A while later, Vastro and his near-infinite army faced the armies of the fourteen usurpers. Endless ranks of beings radiated calm authority, convinced they had already won.
Drakkon's face was tight with worry as he leaned close. "Do you think we can win?"
Vastro glanced at his friend, a small, confident smile curling his lips as he turned his back. "Don't worry. We'll win. We always do." His voice dropped, quiet but warm.
"And if push comes to shove… you can rely on me. I'll make sure you're safe."
Drakkon's shoulders relaxed just slightly. That warmth was the rare soft spot Vastro had reserved for the few who had truly been with him through his lifetimes.... his best friend.
Vastro stood atop what seemed like a cliff, though even as he moved, the ground beneath him rippled unnaturally, alive with Abyssal energy, yet separate from the enemy lines. He scanned the endless sea of ebony figures before him, then their leader. A grin spread across his face, wide and sharp.
"Well," he said, his voice carrying across the battlefield. "Hope you all can entertain me."
He began shedding his suit of Abyss, letting the raw, boundless power of his domain pour into his body. This was no display of arrogance... this was the feeling of real power, unleashed, and the battlefield itself trembled in anticipation.
Then Drakkon's anxious voice cut through. "Wait."
Vastro turned, brow furrowed. "What is it? Something wrong?" He sensed nothing
.. no traps, no snares. With his power, it was nearly impossible to be caught off guard.
Drakkon stepped closer, nodding slowly.
"Yes. It's a trap. And… you've already walked right into it."
Before Vastro could process, Drakkon drew his sword. In one swift, shocking motion, it drove straight into Vastro's chest.
To be continued.....