{Forgotten Shores}
[Trigon Island]
Atop the highest peak, all the strongest and most influential gathered their attention on just one man.
"Do you now admit to your crimes?"
A voice both calm and regal boomed out from atop a towering structure, surrounded by an audience of millions. The owner of the voice, a burly man of great stature, focused his authoritative gaze on a figure drenched in blood.
If one looked closer, they'd realize this blood-bathed man was missing both an arm and an eye. His condition was terrible—practically edging the line of death.
And yet… this man's eyes retained a fierceness that fought against the very notion of death itself.
Noticing this, the burly man's thick brows furrowed.
"Very well then," he said in an emotionless tone. "If you wish to resist up to the very end, then I shall cut things short and get you to your destination sooner."
"Clang, clang!"
The sturdy silver chains that bound the dying man violently shook, as if on the verge of shattering. Just from the residual power leaking out of him, the ground for thousands of meters quaked. The fierceness in his gaze grew even more pronounced as he glared at the burly figure.
"Even now, after having your meridians severed and your cultivation crippled, you still possess so much tenacity."
A sigh escaped the burly man's lips.
"A pity. Truly a pity."
The burly man's eyes became colder and colder, his indifference palpable.
"You had so much potential, Sylas. You could've become the greatest War God this nation has ever known. But you… you wasted your prospects when you decided to save that abomination."
OOOM!
A terrifying aura erupted from the dying man. The thousands of chains that bound him from every conceivable direction cracked and fractured, their integrity being challenged.
And for the first time since the War God Sylas's trial commenced, he spoke—his voice reminiscent of the deepest, coldest depths of Hell:
"Say that again."
"Call her that again—I dare you."
A few simple words, yet they rebounded across thousands of miles like the will of the God of Death—as if the intent they carried would become an absolute certainty if they were to be allowed free reign.
The burly man gave momentary pause. The dazzling crown nested above his head trembled, seemingly reminding him of that indomitable figure from years past—the one whom all on Trigon Island had revered as the Unrivaled God of War.
But that person… he was now no more than a shell of his past self.
"You don't scare me, you beast." King Brackon snorted coldly, dispersing Sylas's residual aura without moving a single muscle. "You are nothing now. You gave everything up in order to save that abomin— that woman."
"Your mother, someone infected by pure blight and coveted by the Dark Lords of the North—was giving her a few more months to live truly worth what you had to pay? What you had to sacrifice to slay merely the weakest of a Dark Lord's Envoys?"
Even without answering verbally, the bloodthirsty gleam in Sylas's dark black eyes was all King Brackon needed to see to know the answer to his question.
"You…" King Brackon shook his head.
He raised his jeweled hand—and a killing intent emerged from within his merciless gaze.
"You really have been my biggest disappointment."
SHING!
A mighty, unstoppable beam of light descended from the heavens. It had a circumference of hundreds of meters, more than enough to completely envelop Sylas's body and everything else in the area.
When the golden glow of the light beam subsided, King Brackon lowered his hand. He then turned away from the huge crater that was left behind, his ceremonial cape billowing in the wind as he left his final piece:
"Sylas Skyfall, God of War of my glorious Trigon Kingdom—may you suffer in Hell for all eternity for the trouble you have brought straight to our doorsteps."
Shifting his archaic gaze to the distant horizon, a monumental mass of dark clouds reflected back in his pupils.
In that cloud mass, countless ferocious demons and nightmares could be glimpsed, some even larger than entire cities.
They blotted out the skies, marking the beginning of something.
Or rather… the End of something.
"Armageddon is here…" King Brackon mumbled.
'Who would possibly believe that the reason this grand catastrophe haunts us now is because of the decisions of a singular man…'
'A man who had willingly discarded everything for the sake of his family, even his very own life…'
Despite the gravity of it all, the King couldn't help but find everything a little ridiculous.
"Your Majesty, what are your orders!?"
"Your Majesty!"
"Tell us what we should do!"
Those on the mountain summit also started to notice the impending doom looming on the horizon. The blackened clouds rapidly approached, accompanied by the rumbling of thunder and something gratingly archaic.
"It's time," King Brackon despairingly muttered, his gaze listless.
Even as panic spread among the most powerful of his subordinates and citizens, he simply stared out at that nearing mass of dark clouds. Even when their panic turned into cries of pain as the demons began their senseless slaughter, his aged eyes never left the deepest parts of the sea of darkness above.
The pinnacle of power. He had always wished to see it with his own eyes.
And now he finally received that chance.
"CEASE TO BE."
A mind-bogglingly calm voice resonated from within the depths of the dark cloud mass. It echoed across time and space, shattering everything in layers—and in an instant, this voice erased the highest mountain on Trigon.
Millions of top experts were effortlessly killed before it moved onto the rest of the kingdom, destroying land and life alike.
"So this is the peak of power…" King Brackon bitterly muttered as the robust divine body he prided himself on cracked and crumbled at an astonishing rate.
Watching an entire continent-sized island disappear off the face of the earth, he was filled with a feeling of insignificance.
"Were we ever more than mere ants to them…?"
An answer to his question never came—and it never would.