I know you, reader—you are confused, right? (laughter) Don't worry, I'll explain going forward.
I. The Moment Before the End
The Vanishing Gate realm lay quiet beneath shattered starlight. The echo of the Final Game's verdict lingered like an unanswered question. On the obsidian floor, the four issued riddles still glowed faintly, drifted motes of ancient power. Above them, carved into living crystal, the score shone in twin columns:
Azrael 2 | Champions 2
Azrael reclined on his throne of shadow and bone, storm-gray eyes gleaming with secret triumph. Across from him, the five champions—Vaelith, Cyron, Edran, Astraion, Dravik—and the Queen of Hope stood in uneasy silence. They had given their answers, wrought from mortal wit and divine spark, yet found themselves tied with the God of Gods.
A sudden wind circled the hall, snuffing motes into swirling darkness. The champions stiffened, hearts pounding. The Queen of Hope raised a hand:
Queen of Hope (whispering): "He said—two games each. And now…?"
Azrael rose, his cloak unfurling like a living eclipse. He let his laughter bloom—soft at first, then rolling like distant thunder.
Azrael: "Oh, my dear champions… We are not done."
II. The Twist in the Tale
He gestured, and the hall's far wall dissolved into semi-transparent mist. Beyond it lay a vast chamber of mirrors, each reflecting fragments of the Vanishing Gate realm and shards of other realities. In their depths, time twisted: echoes of past games played and lost, flickering images of fallen pawns and shattered sigils.
Azrael (smiling): "You believed the Final Game was the riddles… but games upon games weave the tapestry of fate. Your victory in riddles was but a single thread. Now we begin the true reckoning—where every answer, every hesitation, every truth or lie, will be weighed."
He stepped through the mist, and the champions followed. The mirrors cracked, opening onto twelve new sigils—each an avatar of a riddle's spirit, hungry for minds to test.
Azrael: "We play again—this time, both sides must answer, for each riddle you hesitate or falter, I gain a point. Each you solve, you gain one. The first to reach four answers… claims the final victory."
Vaelith's hand clenched his ember-blade. Cyron's spear crackled with electric resolve. Edran's wild eyes gleamed with savage joy. Astraion's stars flared in warning. Dravik's metal frame amusedly adjusted itself. The Queen held fast, hope burning bright.
Azrael (leaning close): "And so, dear champions… let us begin."
III. Riddle One: The Sphinx Revisited
The first sigil flared ruby:
"What walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon, and three legs in the evening?"
Azrael feigned a pained expression, as though the answer had been stolen from his mind.
Azrael: "A riddle of man… How elementary."
He spoke first, voice dripping with mock regret:
Azrael: "Man."
The ruby sigil pulsed, awarding him one gilded motet:
Score: Azrael 3 | Champions 2
Vaelith's ember-blade hissed. He stepped forward, fierce:
Vaelith: "A man, crawling, walking, then leaning on a staff."
He, too, answered—yet the sigil remained dark, as though the truth had already been claimed by Azrael's cunning.
Azrael (soft laughter): "Alas… your victory in riddles turns to ash."
IV. Riddle Two: The Whisper of Echoes
The second sigil glowed pale blue:
"I speak without a mouth and hear without ears. I have no body, but I come alive with the wind. What am I?"
Azrael turned as though struck by a sudden wind, cloak snapping about him.
Azrael: "A whisper of air… or perhaps an echo?"
He held his hand to his lips:
Azrael: "An echo."
The blue sigil shimmered and granted him another motet:
Score: Azrael 4 | Champions 2
Astraion gasped. He drew a hand across the air:
Astraion: "Echo!"
But the sigil already lay claimed. Astraion's constellations dimmed, as though the stars themselves recoiled from Azrael's omnipotence.
Azrael: "Even the heavens shift in my presence."
V. Riddle Three: The Flame of Hunger
The third sigil flared fire-orange:
"I am always hungry; I must always be fed. The finger I touch will soon turn red. What am I?"
Edran felt the jungle's heartbeat quicken. He strode forward, dagger in hand.
Edran: "Fire."
Azrael's grin cleaved his face:
Azrael: "Indeed—fire."
The flame-sigil burned with his triumph:
Score: Azrael 5 | Champions 2
Vaelith moved to contest:
Vaelith: "Fire!"
Yet the sigil pulsed only for Azrael's claim, as though the champions' voices were swallowed by a deeper flame.
Azrael: "Your hearts burn with courage—yet that courage was not enough."
VI. Riddle Four: The Light Unseen
A silver sigil flickered:
"What can fill a room but takes up no space?"
Cyron felt thunder coil in his chest. He raised his spear.
Cyron: "Light."
Azrael closed his eyes, murmuring:
Azrael: "Yes… light."
The sigil crystallized, awarding:
Score: Azrael 6 | Champions 2
Astraion tried one last invocation:
Astraion: "Light."
But the realm itself seemed to shudder, swallowing his answer, leaving only the record of Azrael's perfect four for four.
VII. The Horror of Infallibility
A silence as deep as the void followed. The champions stood broken before Azrael's unyielding perfection:
Azrael 6 | Champions 2
Games: Chess (Azrael 1 | Champions 2), Inner Sanctum (Azrael 2 | Champions 1), Riddles Round 1 (Azrael 4 | Champions 4), Final Riddles (Azrael 4 | Champions 0)
(Yes, the accounting is as maddening as your mind reels.)
Azrael's laughter returned—soft, terrifying, echoing through every pane of shattered mirror:
"Perfection," he whispered. "An exile from mercy. A crown of endless steel."
VIII. The Price of Defeat
The Queen of Hope fell to her knees:
Queen of Hope: "We… we are broken."
Azrael descended from his dais, cloak enveloping the realm in darkness. He knelt beside her:
Azrael (softly): "Broken pieces can be reforged—stronger, sharper, unyielding."
He extended a hand:
Azrael: "Rise, my champions. You have lost. Fate demands your service."
They staggered upright, eyes flickering with defiance and despair.
Vaelith (voice trembling): "Our service… to you? We swore to obey."
Azrael: "Indeed. An oath is truth itself."
IX. A World Unraveled
Outside the Vanishing Gate, reality convulsed. The mortal realm felt the final game's cruel echo:
Ashbourn's fields lay scorched beyond renewal.
Miravelle's rivers ran backward, flooding every dream.
The Northern March's beasts turned upon their herders.
Stardust fell from forgotten constellations.
Iron gates rusted with unnatural speed.
All bore the mark of Azrael's victory.
X. The Final Whisper
Azrael returned to his throne, the champions kneeling before him. He placed a hand on the crystal vessel of restored memories—now full, and yet empty of hope:
Azrael: "My bidding is simple: rebuild the tapestry of fate in my name. Guide mortals toward their destinies… as I once guided you through games."
He rose, looming above them:
Azrael: "And if you falter… I will remind you why riddles can bind the soul more tightly than chains."
A flash of starlight, and he vanished—leaving the champions in a realm of half-light and lingering dread.
XI. Epilogue: Question in the Dark
The Vanishing Gate realm collapsed into mist. The champions emerged—quiet, battered by perfect defeat—into a mortal world turned inside-out. The Queen of Hope, tears shining like fallen stars, whispered:
Queen of Hope: "We will rebuild. We have no choice."
And in every shadow, Azrael's laughter echoed:
"I know you are confused… but fear not. The true design is yet to unfold."
He had won—for now. And the tapestry of fate trembled under the weight of his final riddle:
What becomes of champions when the game is over?