Chapter 82 – "Legacy of the Throne":
---
Orvyn slowly extended his arms.
His aura had calmed, as if anger had melted into heavy melancholy.
— From the beginning… I created the Throne for you, my son, he said in a quiet voice.
His eyes glowed with a gentle, almost human light.
— I loved you more than anything.
Suddenly, the space around them began to vibrate — fragments of memory rose slowly, floating like bubbles of light.
Flashbacks appeared.
A baby Elyon, laughing in his father's arms.
Orvyn, seated on the Throne of Light, holding the child close, a serene smile on his lips.
— My son, I won't let you vanish like the others… you are my hope, he whispered tenderly.
Baby Elyon giggled, clumsily gripping his father's thumb.
A pure image. A true love.
Then — a brutal return to reality.
The memories shattered like glass.
A tear slid down Orvyn's cheek.
— I see those moments are gone…
Elyon, standing before him, crossed his arms, looking bored.
— Dad… stop with the melodrama, seriously. You're gonna make me cry — and trust me, you don't want to see that.
A sarcastic smile accompanied his words.
And suddenly — he charged.
Sword in hand, Elyon rushed forward with such speed that the air imploded behind him.
— Then show me your love, Dad!
The sword sliced through space, tracing a line of pure light.
Orvyn dodged with fluid grace, the attack tearing through multiple dimensions — entire worlds disintegrated in its wake.
Silence. Then —
WHACK!
Orvyn grabbed his son's wrist.
His grip closed, unyielding.
Elyon tried to break free, but couldn't.
— Still so impatient, Orvyn sighed.
And without warning — BAM!
A punch to the gut.
Then another. And another.
Each impact echoed like a cosmic drum.
Elyon doubled over, spat a bit of blood — but flashed a smug grin.
— You hit hard for an old man!
Orvyn responded with a barrage of strikes to the chest, faster than thought.
The blows pierced layers of reality, sending shockwaves so powerful even the Void trembled.
Then, in a sweeping motion, he kicked Elyon with monstrous force.
The Son of the Throne flew through several dimensional portals before crashing into a wall of light as solid as a frozen star.
Naël, watching from afar, turned pale.
— This fight… defies logic.
Vael, from the Palace of the Void, raised an eyebrow while munching spectral popcorn.
— A father and son throwing universes at each other… we've officially seen everything.
Death, impassive, calmly noted:
— A family reunion, apocalypse-style.
---
Elyon, gasping, slowly stood.
A crack ran through his spiritual armor, but his eyes burned brighter than ever.
— You had your little nostalgia trip, Dad… now it's my turn to remind you why you created me.
But before he could move —
Orvyn appeared in front of him.
Without warning, he placed his hand on his son's head… and began dragging him violently across terrains he conjured on the spot by sheer will.
Each impact birthed and destroyed landscapes: a desert, a city, a sea of flames — all obliterated in seconds by Elyon's passage.
> SBLAAAM — CRASH — DOUM — WHAM — SBLRRT —
Elyon watched the cosmic geography fly past in "forced fast travel" mode.
— DAD! LET ME GO! I WANTED TO TALK, NOT DO INTERDIMENSIONAL PARKOUR!
Orvyn, emotionless:
— Divine pedagogy, son.
Then, with a gesture, he hurled him through the final reality.
A colossal wall appeared before Elyon, made of indestructible divine stone.
BAM! Elyon slammed into it so hard the wall shook.
Before he could fall, golden chains burst from the wall and wrapped around him.
Elyon, bound like a cosmic insect, squirmed.
— You call this a family discussion?!
Orvyn calmly reappeared before him.
His shadow stretched across worlds.
— You wanted a lesson?
— Wait, we can negoti—
WHACK!
A divine slap.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
Slaps.
Slaps so powerful even the constellations looked away.
Elyon's eyes widened, stunned.
— DAD, YOU'RE INSANE!
Each slap shook an entire dimension.
— WHACK!
— YOU'RE GONNA DISINTEGRATE ME!
— WHACK!
— I'M ALREADY PUNISHED, STOP!
Vael, laughing from the Void:
— I think he just invented Judgment by Cosmic Slap.
Death, unimpressed:
— And to think they call this a divine bloodline.
Orvyn finally stopped, his hand still smoking.
He stared at his son, calmly.
— You still don't understand, Elyon.
The Throne isn't power… it's responsibility.
Elyon, face shattered but regenerating, muttered weakly:
— Yeah… and you're not a father… you're an operating system.
Orvyn closed his eyes, disappointed.
His aura rose — heavier, more regal.
— Then I'll remind you… why they called me the King of the Ancient Humans.
The ground trembled.
The Void began to bend.
And a massive circle appeared behind Orvyn — the symbol of the Pillars of Creation.
— Dad… you're not seriously going to eliminate me?
— No, my son.
I'm going to purify you.
Chapter 83 – Purification or Betrayal?
While Elyon was still bound by astral obsidian chains, a massive concentration of energy formed above the magic circle. The air vibrated, dimensions trembled, and even the watching entities in the higher planes held their breath.
Orvyn, his gaze stern and voice deep, declared:
— My son… prepare to be purified.
Elyon, his eyes filled with darkness, sneered:
— That senile druid ritual of yours will never work. You're going to kill me? Your own son?
Orvyn didn't flinch.
— You didn't hear me? I said I'm going to purify you, not kill you. Nuance, Elyon. Nuance.
At that moment, a beam of cosmic energy burst from the magic circle, slicing through space-time like a blade heated white-hot. It struck Elyon head-on, pinning him in an explosion of light so intense it erased entire worlds. Entire dimensions within Orvyn's domain were disintegrated like crumbs in a hurricane.
When the energy finally dissipated, a heavy silence settled.
A silhouette began to reform slowly, like a memory refusing to fade. Elyon, eyes wide, whispered:
— What happened… Dad? I had a dream… I was fighting you… I was… evil?
Orvyn, tears in his eyes, stepped forward:
— At last… my son… you've come back to yourself. Come, let me hold you.
Elyon ran toward him, arms open, emotion trembling on his lips:
— Dad…
But just as their hands were about to touch, a wicked smile crept across Elyon's face. He summoned his sword in a flash of black and tried to stab his father.
Except… nothing.
He was frozen, held by an invisible force. His arm trembled, unable to move an inch.
Orvyn looked at him, unmoved:
— You really thought you'd get me twice? You think I'm some low-level NPC?
Then, with a wave of his hand, he hurled Elyon violently through multiple realities. Elyon bounced off a lava planet, passed through a world of singing crystal, and finally landed in a desert of violet sand.
Getting up, he spat blood and grimaced:
— I get it… it's your telekinesis…
Orvyn pulled him back again like a cosmic magnet. He summoned a strange weapon, forged in pure light, and imbued it with a rare ability: regeneration nullification.
— You're not going to like this one.
Without hesitation, he sliced off Elyon's left arm. Clean. Precise. No mess.
Meanwhile, Valen, still with his left eye closed (for dramatic effect, obviously), watched the scene.
— If this keeps going, he's not going to kill him. He's just giving him a cosmic manicure…
He turned to Elyonna:
— Return to your human form.
Elyonna obeyed, transforming back in a soft glow. Zarion, who hadn't yet had his badass line this chapter, asked:
— What are you planning to do?
Valen smiled and pulled from his inner space a legendary sword: the Nexus Blade, the very one once wielded by Valt.
Zarion raised an eyebrow:
— You couldn't have just used Elyonna?
---
**Meanwhile, at the Palace of the Void…**
Valt sneezed violently.
— Damn bastards… Of all the weapons in the Abyssal world, he had to take mine?!
Nyxa, slouched on a throne:
— Stop being such a killjoy, Valt. You don't own style.
---
Back on the battlefield
Valen, solemn:
— I can't afford to taint Elyonna with my chaotic energy. Besides… I really want to see Valt's face when he sees this.
He slowly opened his left eye. A blood-red glow leaked down his cheek. He stared at the Nexus Blade, coated it in his chaotic energy, and whispered:
— Let me handle this, Liora… or whatever you've become.
Zarion, ever the realist:
— His name is Orvyn, in case you forgot.
Valen smiled, sword in hand, ready to join the fray.
— Then let's remind him who we are.
Chapter 84 – Orvyn's Judgment
Valen rushed toward Elyon at lightning speed, the Nexus Blade pulsing with chaotic energy in his hand.
His intent was clear: end it.
One strike.
One judgment.
He reached Elyon, sword raised.
But before delivering the blow, he paused, his gaze burning:
— Hey, bastard. Can't you see your father isn't trying to eliminate you? He's trying to bring you back.
But since purification keeps failing… either the one who corrupted you is filthier than a demon on a moral strike, or you're just… beyond saving.
Elyon, still missing his left arm — severed by Orvyn with an anti-regeneration weapon — smiled.
A twisted smile.
Then, in a brutal gesture, he tore off his remaining arm himself… and regenerated it in a surge of black energy.
— You want chaos? I am chaos.
Valen struck.
A sword blow so powerful it ravaged entire worlds, realities, dimensions within Orvyn's domain.
But to his surprise… Orvyn caught the blade with his bare hand.
— Stay out of this, Valen. I'm staying out of yours.
Let me handle my son.
Valen leapt back, returning to Zarion and Elyonna, now in human form.
— I don't see how he plans to do it.
Purification keeps failing. Unless he absorbs all the chaos energy inside Elyon…
The stars in his eyes stopped spinning.
He lowered his head.
— Orvyn forbade me from interfering.
Naël, arms crossed, growled:
— I think he's going to try absorbing the chaos himself.
Valen sighed:
— Even for me, that's risky. I could fall into madness.
Elyonna nodded:
— Exactly. But Orvyn is different.
Right, Zarion?
Zarion, thoughtful:
— Chaos energy probably wouldn't affect him… but it'd be a messy ending.
Like, "I saved you, but now I've fused with your evil and I'm a cosmic piece of furniture."
Valen:
— Yeah. Too easy. Too tragic. Too… cliché.
Elyon burst out laughing:
— Your plan's garbage!
Dad, stop dreaming. You're gonna end up purifying yourself.
---
Orvyn stepped forward.
Step by step.
His hand rested on Elyon's shoulder.
His gaze was calm.
Tired.
Determined.
— I'm sorry, my son.
Elyon frowned:
— Wait… you're really going to eliminate me?
Orvyn extended his hand.
And suddenly, his body seemed to grow.
Not physically — but cosmically.
As if his presence stretched beyond the story, beyond time.
A white space formed around them.
Pure.
Empty.
Like a page before the words are written.
Then, the void transformed into a translucent cube, vibrating with narrative energy.
A cylube — a forbidden artifact, capable of existing outside the story itself.
Elyon screamed:
— You're not locking me in here, are you? Dad?!
The cube closed around him.
Sealed.
Perfect.
Unbreakable.
Orvyn whispered:
— You'll stay here.
In this zone beyond time, beyond narration, beyond story.
You'll die… again and again… until you repent.
---
Zarion, in the background:
— Wow. That's… radical.
Naël:
— It's effective.
Elyonna:
— It's cruel. But fair.
Valen, arms crossed:
— It's Orvyn. He doesn't do half-measures.
---
At the Palace of the Void, Vael stood and clapped slowly:
— Well, there it is. The old man pulled out the cube.
I bet in three chapters, Elyon comes out with a beard and a philosophy.
Nyxa:
— Or with a new plan to destroy the story itself.
Valt:
— And I still haven't gotten my sword back.
Chapter 85 – "Those Who Remain"
After Orvyn sealed his own son inside the extra-narrative Cylube, a single tear slid down his cheek.
His gaze remained fixed on the floating prison — a cube of white energy gently pulsing in the dimensional void.
— I hope… he finds his way back.
The cube vibrated one last time before stabilizing.
Then silence fell.
Not a peaceful silence — no.
It was the silence of a father who had condemned his child… to save him.
---
Zarion, Naël, and Valen slowly approached, followed by Lya, Nova, and Valor.
The group reformed — a little bruised, a little weary, but united — like a forgotten constellation finally regaining its original shape.
Valen, arms crossed, his left eye still glowing red, said mockingly:
— So, let me get this straight… Liora was you all along, you sly fox?
You were out here giving orders, playing the sexy strategist, while secretly being a divine ancestor in disguise?
Orvyn, slightly embarrassed, looked away:
— I… I'm not that old. Look at my face, I'm youthful. And I was convincing, wasn't I?
Valen chuckled:
— Convincing? Dude, you've got the aura of a talking antique that speaks in verse.
Zarion smirked:
— Still sharp as ever, Valen.
— And still alive, Valen replied with a wink.
Orvyn sighed softly, his tone calm but nostalgic:
— It's been a long time since we last saw each other.
Zarion nodded:
— Since I left my parents' palace to explore creation in human avatar form.
Remember? I took the form of a crystal merchant… and you said I scared children.
Orvyn allowed himself a rare smile:
— You did more than scare them. Some still have nightmares.
---
The tone grew heavier.
Zarion frowned.
— You said you were the last of the ancient humans. What do you mean?
What happened while I was gone?
Orvyn stared into the void, his face closed off:
— The story is simple, and tragic.
The ancient humans were exterminated. All of them. I alone survived.
Zarion froze:
— Wait… what?
And the other races? My parents? They did nothing?
Orvyn sighed:
— Your parents never intervene. You know that.
Two races were completely wiped out.
The others suffered disappearances… but they survive. For now.
Zarion clenched his fists:
— So the threat was that great?
Don't tell me it was my twin again.
Orvyn:
— Absolutely not. He had nothing to do with it.
Zarion:
— Then who was it?
Orvyn, in a strategic and mysterious tone, looked away:
— You'll find out soon enough.
Valen frowned:
— Another one of your suspense lines, huh?
You're worse than the old narrators, I swear. Just say the name, you cryptic fossil!
Orvyn, stoic:
— You'll know when the time is right.
Valen threw up his hands:
— Yeah yeah, classic. "When the time is right." Did you take a class in dramatic prophecy or something?
---
Orvyn fell silent for a moment, then closed his eyes.
His golden aura shifted into a soft, silvery mist.
His body slowly reformed, his features becoming more feminine — and Liora reappeared.
Valen, mock-impressed:
— Ah, there she is. The commander. More charisma, more royal aura.
I prefer this version. Feels like a divine update — "Orvyn 2.0."
Liora raised an eyebrow:
— Careful, Valen. The last person who made that kind of joke vanished into a time loop.
Zarion, curious:
— But why completely dissolve your mortal body just to reform your original one?
Couldn't you just… activate your form?
Liora sighed, returning to her strategist tone:
— It's not that simple.
A mortal body can't withstand the pressure of divine essence.
I had to destroy my host to forge a stable vessel.
Now, I keep my true form sealed inside.
It's… like wearing armor beneath your skin.
Valen:
— So basically, you're a living suit of armor with repressed emotions. Stylish.
Lya rolled her eyes:
— Valen, please shut up.
---
The scenery around them slowly faded.
The dimension Orvyn had created vanished, returning them to the Sanctuary — now in ruins.
Broken columns floated in the air, shattered pillars scattered across the ground.
Zarion broke the silence:
— Even sealed… you should've been stronger.
Like Elyon said, something weakened you.
What happened?
Liora lowered her gaze.
A brief flicker of sadness crossed her eyes.
— It's a long story.
And I'd rather not talk about it… not yet.
Valen sighed, but said nothing.
Even he understood that some memories are too heavy, even for jokes.
---
Inside the extra-narrative Cylube
The space was white.
No shadows. No direction.
Only the dull pulse of a light breathing slowly, like a cosmic heart.
At the center, Elyon sat cross-legged, arms folded, sulking.
— Seriously? A narrative cube?
Dad, you've got the taste of a third-rate prison designer.
This feels like a failed DLC.
He stood, punched a wall.
No reaction.
He tried to summon a weapon: nothing.
Even his own energy dissolved the moment it formed.
— Alright. I get it. I'm grounded.
But what does "repent" even mean when you're born of chaos?
Am I supposed to do spiritual push-ups or something?
Suddenly, a voice echoed.
Not Orvyn's.
Not the voice of Judgment.
But a gentle voice. Ancient.
A voice full of love… and regret.
— You weren't born of chaos, Elyon.
You were born of love… and of a mistake.
And now, you must choose what you want to become.
Elyon froze.
His gaze trembled.
His lips parted slightly.
— Mom…?