On the razor's edge of his despair, desperate for a more immediate solution than the aeons-long wait, King James Novaryon painstakingly re-examined The Seyrith's chilling prophecy. His death, she had said, would come in a 'battle' against a Main Character. That single word, battle, resonated deep within him, sparking a desperate idea and becoming a flickering beacon in his long, unending night.
He knew that while he commanded unparalleled might within his own Novaryon Kingdom, the vast world beyond its borders held countless beings who far surpassed his known power—ancient entities, cosmic horrors, hidden masters of forgotten arts. Many of these, he theorized, might possess abilities capable of bypassing all layers of his absolute immortality. This was his new, perilous path: he would seek them out, challenge them, and perhaps, finally find his end. Yet, despite his millennia of rule and vast, accumulated knowledge, King James harbored a profound, unaddressed ignorance regarding the true nature of his own exalted title: the Brave Hero of Light and New Beginnings.
King James, despite his profound wisdom and the weight of centuries upon his soul, truly failed to grasp the depth of his own unique title, for his misunderstanding lay at the very core of his identity. While a Hero of Light channeled power directly from their unwavering ideals, their resolute will, and their deeply held personal beliefs (a strength that would inevitably wane if those convictions ever faltered), and a Brave of New Beginnings drew strength from their convictions, their visionary leadership, and the very era they shaped (both susceptible to their core principles wavering), James's reality was fundamentally different. As the Brave Hero of Light and New Beginnings—a true, singular hybrid—his title transcended simple amalgamation. It didn't just combine the inherent powers and abilities of both Hero and Brave; crucially, it actively created its own unique set of capabilities, separate from and in addition to those inherited, independently of the conditional reliance seen in the singular titles. This oversight, this fundamental misunderstanding of his own essence, blinded him to the true wellspring of his unstoppable power.
At that moment, the recurring century war between the Novaryon Kingdom and the Draconian Empire flared once more. This was no war of total conquest, but a grand, cyclical conflict of attrition, playing out roughly every hundred years and lasting anywhere from a month to four years. Victors would claim territories, only for the losing side to potentially reclaim them, or another, in the next century's inevitable clash. While James and the Draconian Emperor didn't participate in every iteration, news now reached James that the Emperor himself would be joining the current campaign. A grim, desperate resolve settled over the Immortal King. This was his chance for the elusive end he craved. He would join the war.
James entered the fray, but his presence was a chilling departure from the legend of The Crimson Light of Novaryon. To the Draconian soldiers, the famed radiance, the ethereal elegance, and the refined grace that once defined his fighting style were utterly gone. The almost ceremonial respect he used to show his enemies had vanished, replaced by a cold, savage intent that twisted his every movement into a harbinger of doom. What they witnessed now was a terrifying metamorphosis, a maelstrom of brutal, unyielding force. His fighting style was raw, devastating, and entirely without restraint, leaving a bloody, visceral wake in its path. This was not the guiding light they knew; this was a crimson tide of destruction. Fear spread like wildfire through their ranks, and a new, chilling moniker emerged, whispered in the shadow of his passing: The Bloody Light.
A mere month after James joined the war, the inevitable happened. King James Novaryon, the King of the Novaryon Kingdom, finally crossed blades with the Draconian Emperor—a true dragon, a formidable rival he had faced for centuries. The clash was shockingly brief. In mere minutes, James utterly defeated him.
The swift, anticlimactic victory came as a profound shock to James. While his ultimate goal in this war was death, to defeat the Emperor with such ease was deeply unsettling. For centuries, their encounters had been arduous, drawn-out affairs that most often ended in James's defeat. Only recently had their long-standing rivalry settled into weary draws, moments of equilibrium in an eternal conflict. This quick triumph offered no challenge, no glimmer of the end he so desperately sought.
With the Draconian Emperor so effortlessly defeated, a chilling truth settled upon King James, confirming what he had secretly feared: his long-standing rival was no longer an opponent worthy of his desperate quest, and indeed, there were no true opponents left within the known world capable of granting him oblivion. Announcing his decision directly from the blood-soaked battlefield, amidst the fading echoes of conflict and the bewildered stares of his former subjects, James Novaryon made a momentous declaration. He was no longer the King of the Novaryon Kingdom; he passed the crown to one of his many descendants, relinquishing seventeen centuries of absolute rule. That long, unyielding reign, however, had inadvertently nurtured his unique power to levels that defied all logic and comprehension, an almost monstrous strength he now carried into his new, desperate purpose.
Now unburdened by a throne, a king without a kingdom, a hero seeking defeat, James embarked on a solitary, relentless journey across continents. He sought out the mightiest warriors, the most legendary beasts, the hidden masters of forgotten arts – he challenged every whisper of power, every legend of might, anyone who could offer him the ultimate defeat. But the world proved disappointingly small. Time and again, the clashes were anticlimactic; his escalating prowess rendered all challenges moot, and he found no one who could withstand his assault for even five minutes. It was a bleak existence, a prolonged agony of unfulfillment, until, one day, a sealed letter arrived. Its contents were both chilling and exhilarating. It bore a name steeped in ancient prophecy, found in the holy scriptures of the Church of The Way: Luke Timothy John. The letter contained a stark challenge: a duel to the death on a remote, unnamed island.
Upon that remote, nameless island, two titans met, their destinies converging in a violent storm. They wasted no time in preliminaries; their blades simply clashed. For two hundred continuous, uninterrupted years, James and Luke fought with just one thought, one driving obsession: to end the other. Every ounce of their being poured into each strike, each defense, their very lives on the line, yet neither could fell the other. A terrifying truth became evident: Luke was like James, a being whose power escalated in direct response to his opponent. If James's strength surged, so too did Luke's, locking them in an eternal, perfectly balanced struggle. This impossible duel might have lasted for aeons more, had not an unknown being suddenly descended, placing an abrupt and inexplicable end to their fight.
A figure, whose presence commanded the very air, materialized between the warring immortals. Before James or Luke could react, a subtle, shimmering energy emanated from them, wrapping around the combatants. It was a binding technique that didn't restrain their bodies, but gently, yet firmly, calmed their minds, dissolving their immediate combat intent, pulling them back from the brink of mutual annihilation.
"King James Novaryon," the entity addressed him, their voice carrying a cosmic echo that resonated with ancient power, "and Sir Luke Timothy John. The cosmos, and its countless worlds, have suffered from an enduring destabilization, a condition far predating your current existences. We observe, and we intervene when necessary." They paused, allowing their words, weighty with cosmic truth, to settle. "We offer you a path to your shared goal of oblivion, utilizing your immense power to aid us."
James's face, etched with centuries of weariness and the longing for release, remained impassive. "I seek it now," he stated, his voice calm despite the inner storm that raged within his immortal soul, "not aeons in the future."
The Continuum Keeper agent tilted their head, their gaze unreadable, timeless. "Nothing, for a being of your nature, King James, can truly grant that desire immediately. So, why not embrace the aeons yet to come? Endure, for the sake of the cosmos, and when your fated gift arrives, you will find peace knowing its worth."
Luke, having absorbed the surprising revelations, his analytical mind already processing the new data, spoke. "This prophecy of The Seyrith that King James has heard... it never once mentioned me. Why am I here?"
"Ah, the inherent limitations of mortal foresight," the agent mused, a faint, knowing smile gracing their lips. "The Seyrith, with her Mind of Prophecies, indeed peered aeons into the future, and with her Eyes of Foresight, she focused with singular intent on King James and the anomaly that would finally end him. She simply did not perceive you, Sir Luke, for you were destined to stand shoulder to shoulder with King James in that final, fated moment when the Main Character strikes."
The agent extended a hand, a gesture of profound invitation. "We are the Continuum Keepers. Our purpose is to safeguard and protect the universe and its countless planets from destabilizing and ultimately unravelling. We require powerful assets, like yourselves, to achieve this balance."
"Oh really?" Luke murmured under his breath, his expression a mixture of acute fascination and deep, ingrained skepticism.