Even The Gods Fear My Return
Chapter Two: The Gods Begin to Tremble
High above the mortal realm, far beyond the ethereal clouds that shimmered like gossamer and the twinkling stars that dotted the vast, infinite expanse of night, loomed the magnificent Eternal Sanctum. This radiant palace was not merely a structure; it was a beacon of divine existence, suspended delicately in the intricate fabric that wove together different realms of existence. Its grandeur was a soft spectacle of shimmering light and perfect silence—an unparalleled stillness that was more profound than the cosmos itself. This hallowed place was the sacred meeting ground of the gods, the ancient and powerful beings who had presided over the heavens and Earth alike since time immemorial. From this celestial vantage point, they had observed the rise and fall of empires, witnessing the fragile lives of mortals drift away as effortlessly as dust caught in the wind. It was in this sanctified space that the deities had laid down the very laws of existence, shaped destinies, and instigated cataclysmic events that had eternally altered the course of history.
But today… something was amiss; the light within the sanctum wavered.
Nestled in the heart of this divine citadel, atop an exquisite dais fashioned from the purest, blinding marble, stood the Twelve Celestial Thrones, which gleamed with an otherworldly luminescence. Each throne was meticulously occupied by a god, each an embodiment of a fundamental element of reality itself—be it flame, starlight, shadow, ice, time, or concepts beyond mortal comprehension. They were breathtakingly flawless, exuding an air of eternal majesty and untouched power, unassailable by anything within the mortal sphere.
At least, that was the case until now.
A hairline crack began to weave its way through the magnificent dome that arched overhead, a fracture so subtle it would have escaped the notice of any human eye. Yet, this seemingly insignificant split spread ominously, like a fine web spun between the strands of reality itself, casting a shadow of impending dread throughout the sanctum.
In that moment, the god of fate, Iserion, who had always stood as a pillar of composure and unwavering calm, rose from his seat. Enveloped in robes that shimmered with intricate patterns resembling timelines interwoven with the threads of prophecy, his usually serene visage betrayed a flicker of something deeply unsettling.
Fear.
"This isn't possible…" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he fixated on the vast and empty void, his eyes filled with the weight of eons spent gazing into countless possible futures. "He was erased. Annihilated. Obliterated beyond even the memory of divine consciousness."
Across the expansive chamber, the goddess of purity, Virelya, tightened her grip on her radiant staff, a potent symbol of her celestial authority. "There are unsettling whispers… they echo through the old bloodlines. The temples below us— they are trembling. Even the forbidden seals that restrain powers on the mortal planes are responding—disturbed from their primordial slumber."
"Then the seal was broken…" a chilling, ancient voice resonated from the depths of the central throne.
It was Erethur, the God of Judgment. He emerged from the shadows like a specter of olden times, clad in gleaming armor that was birthed during the very creation of time itself. His eyes blazed with an intense violet flame that flickered with the weight of judgment and foreboding.
"The Forsaken Flame has returned."
The air within the chamber crystallized, thickening into a pregnant silence that felt almost suffocating. This was not the divine silence of contemplation, but rather the oppressive quietude that follows a scream—a scream forever lodged in the throat. One by one, the ageless beings began to murmur fragments of anxious thoughts, the echoes of their voices weaving together like an ominous tapestry.
"This will unravel the balance of existence."
"He cannot be allowed to rise again."
"The mortals will remember him, and they will worship him anew."
"He will seek vengeance, and they will burn."
In that moment, a pulse—a resonating heartbeat—swept through the realm like a foreboding omen.
BOOM.
The walls of the Sanctum groaned under the weight of cosmological dread. The entire structure quaked as if the very fabric of reality was tearing apart at the seams. In that harrowing moment, the celestial mirrors suspended above the dais flickered to life, revealing an image that ignited panic in the hearts of the divinities.
Kazuren.
He appeared amidst the dust-choked remnants of his prison, his golden eyes alight with raw, unfiltered wrath. Magic swirled around him like a ferocious storm, a manifestation of long repressed power. His form was clad in armor of obsidian and gold—now glowing with renewed, awakened strength.
And behind him… the ground smoldered, leaving footprints that burned with a lethal glow.
"He's not just alive," Iserion whispered, his voice trembling with disbelief and horror. "He's evolving."
Virelya staggered backward, her eyes wide with terror and disbelief. "He was already too powerful, a force too great to be contained. What on Earth has he become now?"
As if sensing their attention, the image crackled in response. Kazuren turned, his gaze penetrating the divine mirror as if it were a window into their very souls. A sinister smile played across his lips.
In that instant, the Eternal Sanctum—untouched and untouched by worldly troubles for eons—shook violently under the weight of a profound terror. Gods, who seldom experienced fear, were suddenly reminded of the sheer vulnerability that came with being hunted.
"Mobilize the Seraphim," Erethur commanded, his voice as icy and implacable as the glacial storms of the cosmos. "Summon the Archons. Lock the Realmgates with unbreakable seals. Prepare for war."
He paused, letting the gravity of his words sink in.
"Because he's not coming in search of peace."
To be continued...