Days passed, then weeks. The world Freya had chosen was unlike any she had ever seen. It was… peaceful. Too peaceful.
No wars, no battles, not even an argument in the streets. People smiled as they passed each other. Children played without fear. There were no criminals, no rulers drunk on power, no whispers of rebellion or chaos. It was as if the world itself had been molded into an illusion of harmony.
And that was what unsettled her the most.
Freya sat on a balcony, staring at the city below. She had taken up residence in a quiet town, disguising herself as nothing more than a traveler. Dash lay curled at her feet, tail flicking. Havoc sat nearby, watching the humans interact. Boss lay in the shadows, blending in effortlessly, while Dearest stood at her side, silent as ever.
"This world is unnatural," Havoc muttered.
Freya nodded. "I know."
Dearest's golden eyes never left the horizon. "Something is watching us."
Freya turned to him. "You feel it too?"
Dearest clenched his fists. "It noticed us the moment we arrived. But now, it's… curious."
Dash let out a low growl. "Curious?"
Boss's voice rumbled from the shadows. "A god, perhaps?"
Freya's eyes narrowed. A god? No, this was different. Gods thrived on worship, but this world had no temples, no shrines, no prayers. The people here didn't fear an all-powerful being. They didn't even seem to realize they were being watched.
That meant one thing—whoever controlled this world wasn't looking for faith.
He was looking for control.
And now, he had noticed her.
Freya stood, her gaze hardening. "If this world is peaceful because of him… then he will not take kindly to us."
Dearest smirked. "Let him try."
But Freya wasn't smiling.
Because deep in her gut, she knew—whoever ruled this place wasn't just watching.
He was waiting.
The Watcher in the Shadows
The days stretched on, and Freya's unease only grew.
The longer she stayed in this world, the more she felt it—the weight of an unseen presence, always lingering at the edge of her awareness. It didn't attack, didn't reveal itself. It simply watched.
And Freya hated being watched.
She walked through the town's market, observing the people. They smiled, laughed, traded goods, completely unaware that their lives weren't their own.
Too perfect.
Havoc strolled beside her, blending in easily with her human disguise. Dash darted ahead, snatching an apple from a cart. The vendor chuckled and waved him off, as if stealing didn't matter. Boss stood guard in the distance, blending into the shadows of an alleyway. Dearest… Dearest never left her side.
"Do you notice it?" she asked him, voice barely above a whisper.
Dearest didn't react immediately. Then, his lips curled into a smirk. "It's not just watching anymore. It's listening."
Freya stopped walking. Her blood ran cold.
Listening?
She turned her head slightly, eyes scanning the buildings, the streets, the very air around her. Nothing. No figures lurking in the distance. No demons hiding in the dark. No gods descending from the heavens.
But something was there.
"How strong is it?" she asked.
Dearest tilted his head. "Strong enough that I don't want you to fight it alone."
For Dearest to admit that…
Freya exhaled slowly. "Then it's time we introduce ourselves."
Havoc grinned, her demonic nature flickering in her gaze. "Finally."
Dash stretched, his tails swaying lazily. "About time we break something."
Boss cracked his knuckles, stepping from the shadows. "Your orders, my Queen?"
Freya smiled. A slow, cold, dangerous smile.
"Make enough noise to get its attention."
Her demons vanished in an instant.
The quiet, peaceful world was about to learn the cost of perfection.
And the Watcher?
He would have to reveal himself.
The Watcher Reveals Himself
The air tensed, crackling with unseen energy. Freya stood still, waiting, listening. Her demons had vanished into the streets, their presence masked as they carried out her command.
Then, the first crack shattered the silence.
A nearby building trembled, its foundations groaning under an unseen force. Screams erupted as the marketplace descended into chaos—fruit stands overturned, carts splintered into pieces, and terrified civilians ran in every direction.
Dash was the first to strike. A blur of shadows and speed, he weaved through the city, leaving destruction in his wake. Boss tore through the cobblestone streets, his mere presence sending shockwaves that rattled windows and crumbled walls. Havoc's power seeped into the air, an invisible force that made the sky itself darken.
And then there was Dearest.
He didn't move. He didn't need to.
He simply stood by Freya, arms crossed, golden eyes watching with quiet anticipation. Because he knew—whatever was watching them would show itself soon.
And it did.
The air thickened.
A low, otherworldly hum resonated through the city, silencing the screams. The fleeing civilians froze mid-step, their eyes glazing over, bodies locked in place as if time itself had stopped.
Freya's eyes narrowed. So, it finally makes a move.
A slow clap echoed through the unnatural stillness.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
From the rooftops, a figure emerged—a man, or something wearing the shape of one. He was draped in flowing black robes, his skin pale like the moon, and his eyes… his eyes were empty.
Freya met his gaze and felt the weight of eternity staring back at her.
"You're not supposed to be here," he said, his voice carrying an unnatural calm. "This world is not for creatures like you."
Freya smirked, unfazed. "Oh? And who decided that?"
The man tilted his head. "I did."
The weight of his words sent a ripple through reality. The sky darkened further, the very air warping around him.
Dearest took a step forward, his presence flaring with raw, uncontained power. The moment he moved, the figure's gaze flickered to him, and for the first time, there was something close to recognition.
Freya caught the shift.
He knows Dearest.
Interesting.
"Who are you?" she asked.
The figure's lips curled into the faintest of smiles.
"I am the Architect."
Freya's smirk deepened. "And what exactly have you built?"
The Architect gestured to the frozen city. "A world without war. Without suffering. Without… demons." His gaze darkened. "And I won't let you ruin it."
A silent command pulsed through the air.
The stillness shattered.
From the shadows, beings emerged—figures with hollow eyes, wrapped in divine energy, moving like puppets without strings. They surrounded Freya and her demons, their hands crackling with unnatural power.
A challenge.
Freya rolled her shoulders, her grin widening.
"You won't let me?" she echoed, amusement lacing her tone.
Havoc stepped forward, power surging. Dash flicked his tails, anticipation gleaming in his eyes. Boss clenched his fists, ready to break whatever stood in their way.
Dearest?
Dearest simply whispered, his voice a promise of devastation.
"Shall I kill him for you, my Queen?"
Freya laughed, eyes glowing with the thrill of battle.
"Not yet," she said. "Let's have some fun first."
The Architect sighed, as if already mourning their foolishness.
Then, the battle began.
The Battle That Shatters Worlds
The air exploded.
One moment, the Architect stood still, his expression unreadable. The next—the entire city erupted into chaos.
His hollow-eyed puppets lunged forward, their forms blurring with divine energy. They moved like whispers in the wind—silent, deadly, inevitable.
But Freya's demons were faster.
Dash disappeared. A heartbeat later, one of the Architect's warriors was ripped apart mid-motion, his body torn into nothingness before he could even react.
Boom.
A shockwave followed as Boss slammed his fist into the ground, sending tremors rolling through the city. Buildings collapsed. The earth split like cracked glass. The Architect's forces stumbled, their perfect coordination faltering for the first time.
Havoc lifted her hand, and reality itself twisted. The air turned into a swirling vortex of destruction, consuming everything it touched. The puppets tried to move, but their bodies began to unravel—pulled apart at the molecular level.
And yet—the Architect stood untouched.
His eyes gleamed with something ancient, something beyond time itself.
"You creatures never learn," he muttered. Then, he lifted a single finger.
The world stopped.
Freya's breath caught. For the briefest moment, she felt something she hadn't in a long time—a force trying to rewrite her very existence.
"Fascinating," she mused. Then she snapped her fingers.
Reality screamed.
The Architect's influence shattered like broken glass, the pressure lifting as suddenly as it had come.
Freya smirked. "You'll have to try harder than that."
And then—Dearest moved.
For the first time in the battle, he stepped forward. The ground beneath him melted, unable to withstand the weight of his presence. His golden eyes burned like twin suns, radiating an aura so intense that even Freya's other demons instinctively backed away.
The Architect blinked, and for the first time, his composure cracked.
"You… are different," he said, almost to himself.
Dearest smiled. It was not a kind smile.
And then—he attacked.
The sky shattered as Dearest's fist met the Architect's palm. The impact didn't just shake the city—it obliterated it. The entire dimension rippled, as if struggling to contain the sheer force of their clash.
Boom.
The ground caved in. The very laws of existence trembled under the weight of their power.
Freya watched, arms crossed, as the battle unfolded before her. The Architect was strong—far stronger than she'd expected—but Dearest?
Dearest was unstoppable.
Each of his blows sent shockwaves that could have erased planets. Every time the Architect blocked, he was forced back, the cracks in his carefully controlled world growing larger.
"You can't win," the Architect said, voice strained.
Dearest tilted his head. "Oh? And why is that?"
The Architect's hollow eyes gleamed. "Because I am this world."
And then—the world itself attacked.
The sky tore open, swallowing everything in an endless void. The earth beneath them erupted, tendrils of raw creation and destruction lashing out at Dearest.
The Architect was no longer just fighting.
He was becoming the battlefield.
Freya watched, still calm, still composed. She knew Dearest wouldn't fall. He never did. But she also knew that this world was not his to destroy.
So, she stepped forward.
"That's enough," she said.
The battle stopped.
The moment her voice rang out, all forces halted. The Architect froze mid-motion. The sky, the earth, the very fabric of the dimension itself obeyed her command.
Freya exhaled. "I didn't come here to fight a dying god," she said coolly. "I came to live in peace."
The Architect stared at her, realization dawning in his hollow gaze.
"You're…" he trailed off.
Freya smirked. "Different? I get that a lot."
Dearest let out a low chuckle, stepping back, his aura settling like a storm that had just passed.
The Architect gritted his teeth, his once-absolute power wavering in her presence. His perfect world was crumbling, and he knew it.
"You could rule this place," he murmured.
Freya tilted her head. "I could," she admitted. "But I don't want to."
The Architect's gaze darkened. "Then why are you here?"
Freya's eyes softened—just a little. "Because I was tired of being a queen," she said.
For a moment, silence.
Then, the Architect laughed—a dry, hollow sound.
"You truly are an anomaly," he muttered. "Very well, Mother of Demons. If you seek peace, I will not stop you."
Freya smiled. "Good choice."
The battle was over.
But the game?
The game was just beginning.