The next day dawned with a sky too clear, too bright. The kind of day where something feels wrong but you cannot say why. Azraelion stood on the marble steps of a holy temple, armor cleaned, blade sheathed, summoned not to war but to ceremony. Trumpets blared overhead, and banners of gold and white whipped in the high wind.
Messengers spoke of honor. Priests lit incense. Soldiers lined the path to the gate of the heavens. Citizens gathered in silence, awe heavy in their throats. They thought they were about to see a hero rewarded.
Azraelion walked through the shimmering gate. Each step forward carried him farther from the world he knew. Clouds parted to reveal a hall of endless light. Pillars the size of mountains reached into the unknown. And at the far end, seated like a judge, the High God waited, flanked by other deities.
He knelt, head lowered. "My lord."
The High God rose from his throne. "Azraelion Veyl, savior of countless lives, champion of my name, sword of balance — today you are called here for your great service."
A murmur went through the divine court, soft and low. Azraelion looked up, confused. The gods' faces held no warmth. Only cold, fixed masks.
From the side, chains of light formed. Six strands, like serpents made of sunlight, slithered toward him. They wrapped around his wrists, chest, ankles, neck. They tightened.
Azraelion tensed. The chains burned, not like fire, but like truth cutting through lies. He could not break them.
He looked at the High God. "What is this?"
The High God stepped closer, eyes like hard coins. "It is mercy," he said. "You have grown too bright. Mortals forget their gods and whisper only your name. Balance tilts. Fear rises. And fear drives war."
Azraelion's jaw tightened. "I have done everything you asked. I bled for your wars. I stood when your angels fled. And now this?"
The gods did not speak. The chains glowed hotter, and a low hum filled the hall.
The High God's voice rang out like a hammer striking stone. "By divine law, I cast you from the heavens. You will find no ground, no sky, no rest. You will vanish where even gods will not tread."
Azraelion spat blood onto the shining floor. "You fear me. That is all this is."
A flicker — the smallest — passed through the High God's gaze. Not regret. Not hatred. Only fear, buried deep.
With a gesture, the floor beneath Azraelion opened, not cracking, but folding away like a trapdoor into black. No air rushed. No light escaped. It was not a hole but a mouth. A mouth with no bottom.
The chains dragged him forward. He struggled, but divine bindings turned strength into nothing. His men's laughter, his victories, the sound of mortal cheer — all flashed behind his eyes like dying sparks.
He took a single step, not forced but chosen. He stared at the High God until the last sliver of light cut away.
And then, Azraelion Veyl, strongest of mankind, was gone — swallowed by the Abyss.