The void pulsed, trembling like it had a heartbeat of its own. Every fragment of Prismarine fire around Vemy thrummed in sync, shards spinning with jagged rhythm, reacting to something beyond sight.
He stood atop a drifting shard of reality, wings cracked but blazing, the abyss stretching endlessly in every direction. Silence pressed down, heavy, yet full of whispers he could almost understand—echoes of power older than the Thrones, older than himself.
A faint glow flickered along the edges of the fissure, shadows curling unnaturally, bending the light in impossible ways. Vemy's spear felt heavier, alive in his hands, feeding off the tension in the void.
Somewhere beneath it all, something stirred. A presence that had been waiting. Watching. Testing. Not a god, not a guardian—but something else entirely.
Vemy clenched his jaw, Prismarine fire coiling tighter, his heartbeat a war drum against the silence. He didn't know what awaited him in the next moment—but instinct screamed that the answers would shatter everything he thought he knew.
The shards around him flared, reacting to the anticipation, spinning faster, sharper. The abyss seemed to lean in, holding its breath.
And then, in the void just beyond vision, something moved. Something that didn't belong.
Vemy's voice was low, defiant, carrying over the emptiness.
"This ends… on my terms."
The void trembled. The fissure pulsed. And for the first time, even the shards seemed afraid.