The skies hadn't cleared yet.
Ash rained down from the clouds like black snow, the last screams of the air itself still echoing across a scorched Earth. Cracks webbed across continents, oceans steamed into silence, and time itself seemed to hold its breath. In the center of it all, Zawish stood—bloodied, breathing heavily, his glove crackling with broken surges of Dar Metal energy. His cape had long burned off. His hair clung to his face with sweat and soot.
Thragorr's body, or what remained of it, lay scattered like crumbled obsidian. But the silence felt wrong. Too easy. Too soon.
Zawish's eyes narrowed. "No villain forged in the Realm of Black Echo dies that easy…"
And he was right.
The ground beneath his feet pulsed, like a living heartbeat. Zawish leapt back just in time to see the cracked earth erupt as blackened tendrils shot out, coiling like serpents. They pulled together, bone snapping, matter twisting, until Thragorr stood once more—twice as large, half his face melted off, revealing the pulsating void within.
"You thought that was enough?" Thragorr rasped, his voice now layered with echoes—voices of thousands of damned souls, screaming inside him. "I am beyond death, Zawish. I am forged in silence where gods weep."
Zawish didn't flinch. "Then I'll teach you pain in the language only death understands."
He lunged.
They collided mid-air with such force that nearby mountain ranges crumbled. Their fists met in a blast that turned clouds into glass. Zawish's punch sent Thragorr flying across continents, but the ancient being rebounded mid-air and returned like a meteor—slamming into Zawish's chest and burying him fifty feet into the earth.
Zawish coughed blood. He looked up. A foot came crashing down toward his skull.
With a sudden shift, he teleported—reappearing in the sky, spinning like a spiral of red fire. His glove extended, absorbing the raw chaotic energy from the atmosphere. The entire glove glowed violently as he roared:
"FOR EARTH!"
The beam that burst from his palm wasn't light—it was judgment. It cracked Thragorr's armor, peeling away layers of otherworldly flesh. The scream that escaped Thragorr shattered satellites in orbit.
Still, he rose.
"You think you're a god, Zawish?" Thragorr laughed maniacally. "You're just Earth's scared little child wearing a shiny glove!"
Zawish landed behind him. "And you're just an old fart with an ego problem."
He drove his elbow into Thragorr's spine, twisting with momentum, then followed up with a flurry of punches so fast they created sonic booms with every hit. One final uppercut launched Thragorr into the stratosphere.
Zawish paused. Then squinted.
"Wait… why is he smiling?"
Above, Thragorr exploded into smoke—disappearing entirely.
The next instant, Zawish was struck from behind by a new energy.
Different.
Colder.
He stumbled forward, rolling through rubble, and looked up.
Someone was floating where Thragorr had stood.
But it wasn't Thragorr.
This one was leaner. Sleeker. Clad in armor that shimmered with colors not yet discovered. His face hidden behind a voidmask. His voice, when he spoke, was smooth… terrifyingly calm.
"I am Veyr," he said. "Thragorr was merely a scout. I am the Architect of Collapse."
Zawish stood slowly, wiping his lip. "You guys really need to get a better recruitment agency."
Veyr didn't laugh. He lifted one hand—and gravity turned off.
Zawish suddenly flew upward, his body helpless against the shift in physical law. Cities began rising, oceans twisting upward like reverse waterfalls.
"Stop it!" Zawish shouted.
Veyr answered only by snapping his fingers. The moon cracked.
Zawish's fury peaked. He slammed his glove into his own chest. "No more holding back."
The glove expanded, forming claws of pure Dar Metal. His body ignited in pure silver flame, and his voice deepened with power from the core of Earth itself.
He roared—a roar that deafened angels.
He soared toward Veyr, spinning, punching, warping reality as they clashed in the upper edges of the world. They moved faster than thought, punches bending time, kicks folding dimensions.
Veyr conjured daggers from shadowlight. Zawish caught them mid-air, snapped them with his teeth, and dropkicked Veyr into the crust of the planet.
The Earth screamed as continents shifted.
Zawish followed down, landing like judgment day. He pulled Veyr up by his throat.
"Who sent you?" he demanded.
Veyr only whispered, "Lore Zom… has enemies."
Zawish's eyes went wide.
Before he could speak, Veyr exploded—turning into thousands of dark locusts that scattered across the globe, vanishing into shadows.
Zawish stood there, alone.
His glove dimmed.
The world silent again.
He whispered to himself, "Lore Zom… enemies?"
And above, the stars began to vanish one by one—eaten by something coming.
Something older than even the Dark Dimension.
Something… forgotten.
Zawish clenched his fist.
"This isn't over."