Somewhere far beyond the veil of mortal perception, in the endless fold of the Abyss Realm, the sky churned with blackened stars. No light glowed naturally here—only the glimmer of fractured divinity reflected through the void, like the souls of slain gods whispering from the cracks.
At the heart of this abyss, on a colossal throne of bone and voidcrystal, sat the Council of Demon Gods.
Twelve thrones formed a jagged circle—some occupied by shifting monstrosities cloaked in flame and shadow, others by formless masses of wings, horns, or serpentine limbs. Between them hung nothing—true nothing—the kind that swallowed thought and unmade sound.
One of the Demon Gods stirred, its voice a chorus of razors and whispers.
"You are saying… Salvatore's Void Crystal has shattered?"
A lone demon servant knelt in the center of the circle, head bowed low, his back writhing with leashed corruption.
"Yes, my lords," the servant replied, voice trembling. "He had been sealed for centuries… but recent infernal efforts succeeded in breaching his prison."
There was a ripple of agitation.
Another god, wrapped in swirling violet ribbons of inverted flame, leaned forward, voice hollow.
"He was released. Then how did the crystal shatter hours later?"
"The plan was set in motion, my lords," the servant continued quickly. "The false Hero of Light was established in the upper realms of Seraveth. The seal was weakened from within. The acolytes—those touched by the God of Illusion and Illumination—succeeded. The barrier crumbled."
Whispers and flutters of void tongues echoed through the dark.
"But then," the servant said, voice cracking, "only hours after… his crystal anchor shattered completely."
A new voice rumbled—deep, ancient, a guttural bellow like a god choking on thunder.
"Was it the Divine Realm?" came the growled inquiry from a massive demon god whose body resembled a volcano draped in smoke and blood.
The servant shook his head violently. "No, great one. There were no divine fluctuations. No gates opened. No heavenly legions descended."
Murmurs broke out among the demon gods now—some muttering in disbelief, others in anger.
The formless god of tendrils and teeth hissed. "That's the second time. Just like the one who was sent to the Southern Veil. The one who vanished near the Forbidden Vein."
Another god snarled. "No traces. No marks. No soul echoes. This isn't natural. Something… erases."
The shadow-throned figure seated at the apex throne finally stirred.
All others silenced.
His name was Val'Zaruun—the oldest among them. His eyes, if they could be called that, glowed with deep crimson lines running like wounds across his helm of bone. His body was half-formed, as if rejecting reality, flickering between hulking demon and impossible geometric patterns.
He leaned forward, the weight of the Abyss itself bowing beneath his voice.
"Send more demons."
His words were slow. Final.
"Find the cause. Find the slayer. Whether god, draconic, or some unknown abomination, I want answers."
He raised one clawed finger, dripping void ichor.
"Or every one of you will lose your heads before the next rotation of this cursed realm."
The servant bowed lower, body trembling. "Y-Yes… my lord. I will dispatch immediate incursions to Seraveth and Drakareth. The abyss will seek… and it will find."
And in the next breath, the servant vanished—swallowed by the circle's core, leaving nothing behind.
Silence returned.
But now it was heavier. Denser. Bloodthirsty.
Above the thrones, the abyss itself stirred—for it, too, had begun to take interest.
In the towering marble halls of the Divine Citadel, nestled among the clouds of the upper realm, the golden flame of Solien's war throne flickered with unease.
The god of radiant judgment, Solien Astridane, sat tall upon his celestial seat, clad in full white-gold warplate that pulsed with holy law. Around him sat his vassals—the War Gods—each a pillar of divine military order: the Flame Marshal of the Western Spires, the Thunder Strategos of the Tempest Vault, and the Unseen Sentinel of Dusk.
They spoke in low tones, murmuring about increasing void incursions in mortal space. But the discussion halted as a breathless messenger seraph stumbled into the hall, armor singed with smoke.
He knelt low before the throne.
"Lord Solien! I bring grave tidings."
Solien's brows furrowed, golden light flaring faintly from his eyes.
"Speak."
The messenger raised his head. "The sealed Demon God, Salvatore, has… emerged. The seal—set centuries ago by mortal divine proxies—has been broken. He re-entered the realm of Seraveth. A surge of chaos spread across the eastern dominions."
Gasps echoed among the war gods.
Solien stood slowly. "The seal… broke?"
"He caused devastation," the seraph confirmed. "Reports say entire miles of land were corrupted in minutes. Shadows devoured rivers. Flame rained sideways. The sky cracked."
Solien's fists clenched.
"We must send judgment," boomed the Flame Marshal. "We cannot allow another incursion."
"Prepare a coordinated descent," barked the Thunder Strategos. "A three-front envelopment—"
"Wait!" the messenger cried out, wings flaring with urgency. "There is more."
The gods fell silent.
The seraph lowered his voice.
"Hours after his emergence… Salvatore perished. The void crystal that housed his divine essence shattered. There were no further fluctuations. The land stabilized. And…"
He hesitated, eyes darting toward Solien.
"…It is as if it never happened."
The throne room darkened.
Solien stepped down from the dais, golden cloak trailing behind him like sunlight made solid.
"That… is impossible."
His voice was soft, but filled with godly weight.
"Salvatore is no ordinary demon. He held 38% Creator Authority. Even in his bound state, he wielded enough force to level mortal kingdoms. The last time he was unleashed, it took twelve saint-heroes just to seal him. Not one of them could slay him."
His eyes narrowed.
"To destroy him completely would require… divine breach. A god descending to interfere."
The Flame Marshal turned. "Shall we check the realm-logs? Verify if any deific breaches occurred?"
"We already did," said the messenger, more quietly now. "No god descended. No pacts were violated. No divine gate was opened. It is… unclear what happened."
Solien stared into the high mosaic windows—depictions of ancient wars and divine victories. His mind raced.
"Then something else did it," he muttered.
The Unseen Sentinel stirred for the first time. "Perhaps a force born beyond divine detection. A… fracture in law."
Solien shook his head.
"No… we would have felt it. Seen it ripple through the Planar Accord. This… was something precise. Swift. Like a sword through a throat."
He turned sharply.
"Continue investigating. I want all etheric echoes, prophecy anomalies, and mortal resonance disturbances scanned from the moment of Salvatore's emergence—until his erasure."
The messenger bowed deeply. "Yes, my lord."
And then vanished in a flash of radiant glyphlight.
Solien stood alone at the center of his gods.
None spoke further.
Because none had an answer.
And somewhere beneath all their logic, a growing unease settled in Solien's chest. Not just for what had happened…
…but for who might have done it.
In the rose-gold serenity of the Celestial Bloom Palace, where sun-kissed petals drifted eternally in midair and divine instruments played themselves in distant halls, the goddess Seraphina lay sprawled over a polished starlightwood table.
She didn't lie elegantly. She didn't sit with posture. She slouched, one leg dangling, one cheek smooshed against her forearm, the other hand lazily nursing a cup of steaming divine blossom tea. The liquid shimmered faintly with celestial essence.
A sigh escaped her lips.
"…Boring," she muttered. "No chaos, no updates, no dreams, no Alter."
She stared up at the ceiling, watching a vine crawl slowly along the marble like it, too, was tired of eternity. But then—
Her body jerked.
"…?"
A jolt pulsed through her divine core.
She sat upright instantly, eyes snapping open. The tea cup slipped from her fingers and floated safely away, cradled by her personal sigil ward. Her attention, however, was far from it now.
Something was moving inside her.
A tether—long silent, frayed and forgotten—was mending.
A silvery thread, once severed, now pulsed faintly at the edge of her awareness. Ethereal and whisper-thin, it hovered just out of reach, twitching like a spark waiting to catch.
Her heart leapt.
"What… is this?" she whispered.
The thread pulled taut.
Another broken piece of it hovered in from the ether—then suddenly, clicked into place.
A connection.
Her eyes widened in divine disbelief.
"The divine connection… to Alter?"
She was on her feet instantly.
"ALTER!?" she shouted.
No answer.
She tried again, both mentally and through divine attunement.
"Alter, can you hear me?!"
Still nothing. No voice. No return of his usual, sarcastic tone. Just silence. And yet—the thread pulsed again.
Frantic now, she whirled around, wings of light flaring behind her as she sprinted through the palace halls.
Moments later, she burst into the Celestial War Council chamber, where Solien and his war gods had just resumed tense discussion following the report of Salvatore's inexplicable demise. Glowing maps hovered midair. Divine scrying spheres hummed above the center of the table.
"IT'S ALTER!" Seraphina cried, bursting in breathlessly.
The gods turned.
Solien narrowed his eyes, instantly raising a hand. "Seraphina—calm yourself. Speak clearly."
She landed at the edge of the war table, wings fluttering wildly, her cheeks flushed with emotion.
"I felt it," she gasped. "His tether—it was gone for so long. Broken. Silent. But now… now it's reconnected. Just a thread—barely holding. But it's him. Alter. He's alive."
The gods froze.
Even the Thunder Strategos lost his composure for a heartbeat.
Solien's gaze sharpened.
"…You're certain?"
Seraphina nodded, voice firm now. "I would know that energy anywhere. It's him. He's not responding—but the thread is stabilizing. That only happens when someone's soul resonance is trying to reach back."
Solien's eyes widened subtly.
He turned away from the table, lips tight, thoughts racing.
A divine tether restored.
A sealed demon god—destroyed.
No divine intervention. No celestial gate opened. No war god dispatched.
And yet…
"…It was Alter," Solien said aloud.
He stared into the high window where the golden light of the central star bathed the chamber in eternal noon.
"He broke the seal," Solien whispered. "He broke the seal to his Creator's Authority. Or at least… began to unlock it."
The war gods stood in stunned silence.
The implications were cosmic.
A mortal—no longer merely mortal—who had vanished from divine awareness, whose name had not echoed in decades… now moved once more.
Seraphina placed a hand to her heart, eyes glowing with a soft silver-gold light.
"Find him, Solien. Please. Before they do."
Solien didn't answer immediately.
But his eyes burned brighter.
"…We will."