There I was, standing in the vast cosmos of space, universes away from home. It was not a matter of choice but duty.
Across from me, an armada of ships moved, bringing unwarranted death, destruction, and doom. Pillaging planets and stars alike to feed the savage greed of a few hundred billion at the cost of trillions.
To inslave and kill the divine, not due to fate but by one's own vanity. To be the big fish in a small pond, yet so conceited in world view.
How disgusting.
But maybe it was due to my own hypocrisy that I sighed–one as long and immoral as time itself– was it not one quantum era ago that I, too, would bring upon doom to any place that met my gaze. Once more, I sighed.
I could feel my companion's worried yet saddened gaze upon my back; it was almost enough to make me chuckle. Oh, Dutch, oh so loyal friend. Your steadfast loyalty never fails to amaze me. My trust in you will last even when you no longer stand by my side.
But I can't help but wonder if the events that led up to my presence here played out differently, would I've had to say farewell to you all, my dear friends, sooner than I wished?
So, how did I end up here, moments away from taking the lives of billions?
**Earth, 2 days ago**
Everyone sat around the table chatting, laughing, and enjoying the wonderful breakfast made by Aria and him. The conversation at the time focused on the Weird family dynamics they had going on.
"I have a question, Grandma Kira, and Aunt Herta." Aria set her fork down as she swallowed the food in her mouth. "If we call you Grandma and you Aunt, then should we call Mr. Riven uncle?"
"No," Herta answered almost instantly.
Kira shook her head. "Definitely not."
"I forbid it," Sera spoke, her voice steady and resolute, her words final.
"Don't I get a choice in the matter?" Riven questioned while stuffing a piece of French toast in his mouth.
"Not till the death of the sun," Sera said flatly, reaching for her glass as if the conversation didn't carry any weight.
Herta and Kira froze. Their laughter evaporated, turning to face Riven, both shook their heads as if telling him not to. He gave them a reassuring smile, which did little to calm them.
"So do we just keep calling him Mr. then?" Nyra cut in, passing the syrup over to April, who sat quietly between her and Herta.
Riven nodded, swallowing the last of the French toast on his plate. "For now, until your mother says otherwise, yeah."
"There is no 'otherwise'," Sera corrected, "that's just what you'll call him."
"Then whose our father?" Aria shot back with a cool confidence, deftly dabbing her lips with a napkin as she posed her pointed question.
"We've been through this, Aria, I don't know," Sera replied, setting her fork down.
Aria slammed her hands on the table. Silverware clattered against porcelain. "Why the hell don't you!? You said two men, two!! You have no problem talking about one of the bastards, so what's so hard about talking about the other!!"
"We are not having this conversation right now," Sera stated, her voice leaving no room for argument. But Aria refused to yield.
"Yes, we are. All I want to know is why you refuse to mention him."
"Alright fine, you want to know it's simple. He will never be your father; he doesn't deserve it, and he never will. Even if you two accept him, I never will." Sera snapped, her words filled with icy coldness.
The scraping of plates abruptly halted. A silent air of awkwardness covered the table. Herta opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, Riven stood from his seat.
"Sorry, I'll be back. I gotta take this call." He didn't wait for a response. His steps were light, but each carried the weight of something unsaid. And as he turned the corner, his back looked… smaller than before.
Even after he left, the silence persisted, with only the sound of cutlery on plates filling the void. No one knew what to say, nor wanted to be the one to break the silence, or at least was until.
"I'm going to the bathroom." Tossing the napkin on her plate, she pushed her chair out. She rose from her chair before walking off.
As she strode confidently down the corridor, she breezed past the restrooms, their familiar signs fading from her mind, and veered around the corner into another hall. She never had any intention of going to the bathroom. She just needed a good excuse to escape the dreadful silence.
So, why not just go chat with her brother? She had something to ask him anyway, and only one other person in that dining room was privy to such information, and that was their mother, who wouldn't be happy to hear about her son's struggles.
"Haa, why does a genius like me have to deal with such matters? I should make that brother of mine get me a servant on par with Dutch," she mumbled under her breath, as she turned down into the Arcanum wing.
Herta didn't hesitate—she walked straight to Riven's study and swung the door open. The study was dimly lit, sunlight diffused through tall curtains, casting long shadows over the scattered papers and books.
He sat behind his desk, an ancient tome in hand—Prophetic verse of Doom, the kind of book entire lifetimes had been wasted chasing. If anyone knew it had been with him all along, they'd cough blood in fury.
"Y'know, Herta, I always questioned what my weakness would be. The system always said I would just know, but even to this day, I still don't know what it meant. You're a genius, so tell me, why is the greatest weakness of Doom: Life and Death?
"Are you hung up on what Aria said? If so, I implore you to look for answers elsewhere."
"No, I've already moved past that. She is right, though—all I bring is doom. That doesn't exactly make me father material… not that they're mine to begin with."
"Haa, do you really want to know? I still have samples of your DNA from before you left. Should do the trick, just need a sample from the twins. Or you could check yourself"
"No, my understanding of the law of life is too shallow; the only thing I can do is extend lifespans. And I would much rather not know the truth."
"Suit yourself."
"I wonder…" He trailed off, though he didn't need to say the words for her to understand him. "Herta, if I have to leave, please watch over them."
"Riven…" Slapping her face. "Haa, whatever, do whatcha want, but remember what you said. 'Doom wasn't a hammer to swing around.' You want to live a normal life, then leave it right there and abandon those foolish thoughts."
Herta turned and walked to the door. "Maybe Fate wasn't meant to be changed." She muttered, then stepped out. The door clicked shut behind her—soft, final.
Even minutes after she left, he sat there alone in the darkness, her voice echoing in his ears.
No, it wasn't her voice that spoke those words; her voice had long since faded, those words didn't belong to her.
They were spoken by someone else. Someone who once stood beside him at he start, before and as the stars fell and the sky burned. The first soul to ever stand beside the Doom bringer… and of the first to vanish in its wake.
Even now, after so many years, his memories wouldn't obey—because he made them forget. It was a price he needed to pay for control. Of sanity. Of continuing to exist while carrying this name.
"No," He murmured aloud. "Don't show me that again…"
But his cries would fall on deaf ears. The door had cracked, and the memory, sealed beneath layers of divine suppression and soul-woven chains, stirred. Though not fully—not yet.
Even still, a crack was enough for even the darkest of whispers to escape, and corrupt one's thoughts. To lead on down a spiral of self-doubt and second-guessing oneself.
For others, this may have been the worst path, filled with endless suffering. However, for Riven, it was different. For the past week, since meeting Sera again, others had told him how he had changed and didn't act 'normal'.
A chance to ponder rarely came, and yet he felt like this was the first of many chances to come. Here, he could begin to walk the path he had abandoned so many eras ago. Oh, wait, I guess it was only sixteen years ago on earth, but still, he would walk the path no matter how much time had or hadn't passed.
All he needed was one step, one he wasn't sure he could make, and for two days, no matter what he was doing, his mind remained there, questioning whether he should or not. An answer needed to be made, and time would not wait as a familiar voice dragged him back to his place.
"My lord, I am sorry we failed you. We request your assistance." Dutch's voice rang loud in his head. And without a moment's notice, in the dead of the night, Riven rose from his bed, disappearing into the starry abyss.
**Present Day**
Once again, it's not done, but what do you think? I tried highlighting the duality of the situation, and even highlighting it in another sense. The Conversation with his Horsemen lasted longer than the destruction of the Civilization.
The cosmos waited with bated breath. This encounter was a foregone conclusion in the records. Today, a civilization would fall, balance would be restored, and he would have completed his divine duty once more.
And all of this would happen in the blink of an eye. An event so significant, yet only a minor footnote in the visage of the Omniverse. Hundreds of years to reach this point, and a hundred more on this journey, but it would only be a blip in the history of the divine.
"Where is your sister, War?"
"My Lord, she is currently handling the apocalypse event of another world in a different multiverse," War answered, referring to Conquest.
"Famine, I heard you were the first to attack."
"Yes, my lord." She dropped to a knee, the Jagged brass chains wrapped loosely around her waist and arms, rattling softly, "Though my success was limited due to the enslaved goddesses of harvest."
"Did they manage to enslave the wielder of the origin fragment?"
"No, my lord." She replied, dropping her head low.
"Then you need more training. Your punishment is one Nova Era of training. Do you accept?"
"Yes, my lord." She nodded, keeping her head low.
"Pestilence and War"
"Yes, my lord." Both shouted, dropping to a knee. On War waist a belt of weapon fragments clattered softly.
"Do you know what you did wrong?"
"Yes, my lord." Dutch spoke first, his voice full of disappointment. "I should have been the one to initiate the attack, unleashing a plague unstoppable by any low-tier blessing."
"And War?"
"My hastiness to enter battle, followed by hesitation to retreat, caused Pestilence and Death to step in to assist me, making us lose our strategic advantage," War said, his gravelly voice filled with remorse.
"Your punishments are as follows: Pestilence, you are to spend one system era studying the war tactics from Strife. While you, War, will spend five nova eras in closed-door confinement. Do you accept your punishment?"
"Yes, my lord." Both shouted, dropping their heads low.
"Death, step forward." Lazaria steps forward, but unlike the other, stands tall. "What reward do you wish for?"
"My lord, I only wish to remain by your side on earth." She requested, placing her right hand over her chest, she bowed.
"So be it, you will serve as the protector of the two girls I've taken under my care. Do you accept?"
"As you command, my lord." She bowed again before stepping back in line.
"Good, now let's put an end to their adventure." With a powerful motion, Riven raised his arm, his fingers curling into an invisible grip. He swept his hand from the left side of his body to the right.
Then, like an array of fireworks, the armada of ships exploded in a myriad of colors. A brief, violent bloom in the void—then silence.
Wreckage scattered like dying embers across the star, trailing smoke that shimmered the black canvas of space. In that moment, it was almost beautiful.
But that silence didn't last.
Through the drifting haze, a single ship fragment blinked weakly—a failing distress beacon pulsing like a dying heartbeat. Beneath it, a lone figure hovered amidst the remains, bloodied, trembling, but alive. And staring straight at Riven.
"You think this destruction makes you any different from us?" Their voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper, but the fury burned with something Riven hadn't felt in a long time–raw, righteous hatred.
They raised a trembling finger pointing at him, "You're just a monster with a crown. A hypocrite. A murderer hiding behind divine titles."
A scythe came cutting through the void, finishing him off before he could say anything else.
The words hit harder than he expected. Not because they were wrong…but because they were old echoes. Familiar voices of accusation, haunted by the ghost of self-righteousness, spoken just before their end.
He sighed. It was still the same; they always saw the light, but never the shadow. Being the strongest meant shining like a star—but no one ever asked what it took to keep burning.
And sometimes, you'd burn so brightly… You forgot you're still burning.