The heavens bled.Astraeus Ren, youngest of the war-gods, stood on a mountain of celestial corpses, his breath coming in ragged, golden bursts. His armor, forged from the heart of a dying star, was cracked and stained with the ichor of a thousand demons. Below him, the celestial plains of Aethelgard were a maelstrom of divine light and abyssal shadow, a battlefield where the very fabric of reality was tearing itself apart. For centuries, the gods had waged this war against the demon hordes of the Abyss, but never like this. This was an ending.He was a being of pure, radiant power, his form sculpted from courage and starlight. Mortals who had once glimpsed him in battle had written epics of his grace, his twin swords moving like streaks of dawn, each swing a symphony of righteous destruction. He was the hope of the Pantheon, the prodigy who had slain demon lords and scattered armies before he had even come into his full divinity.But today, hope was a flickering ember.A deep, guttural roar echoed across the plains, silencing the chaos for a heartbeat. It was a sound that did not just travel through the air but clawed at the soul. From the swirling vortex of demonic energy, a figure emerged. It was him. The one they called the Demon King, though he had no name, no title he acknowledged. He was simply the strongest, a primordial entity of destruction born from the universe's first shadow.His presence was a void. Where he walked, light died. The divine energies of the gods withered, and the very ground beneath him turned to black, glassy dust. He was a walking apocalypse, and his eyes, burning with cold, ancient malice, were fixed on Astraeus.Astraeus gripped his swords, the celestial steel humming in his hands. He was not afraid. Fear was a mortal luxury, an emotion he had shed eons ago. But a cold, heavy certainty settled in his divine core. He had faced countless horrors, but this was different. This was not a battle; it was an execution.The Demon King took another step, and the gods fighting near Astraeus recoiled, their divine forms flickering like candles in a gale."He is mine," a voice echoed, not spoken, but felt—a tremor in the soul of every being present.Astraeus stood his ground, his jaw set. He was a god of war. He would not run. He would not cower. If this was his end, he would meet it with a blade in hand."So, the Abyss sends its final coward," Astraeus called out, his voice ringing with celestial authority, though he knew the bravado was a thin shield. "Have you come to fall on my swords like the rest of your kin?"The Demon King did not answer. He simply raised a hand, his obsidian claws dripping with a darkness that seemed to consume the light around them. The war fell away. The screams, the explosions of power, the clash of armies—it all faded into a muted backdrop. There was only the young war-god and the ancient demon, two opposing absolutes on a field of ruin.This was the moment that would break the heavens. And Astraeus, with the weight of a dying pantheon on his shoulders, charged forward to meet his doom.
The charge was an act of pure, defiant will. Astraeus became a comet of golden light, crossing the ruined plains in an instant. His twin swords, named Dawn and Dusk, sang through the air, leaving trails of searing energy. He moved with a speed that bent reality, a blur of divine fury aimed at the heart of the abyss. Any other demon would have been annihilated before they could even perceive the attack.But the Demon King did not move. He simply watched, his ancient eyes tracking the god's impossible speed as if it were a child's slow crawl.As Astraeus's blades descended, the demon raised one hand. Not to block, but to catch.The impact was silent. Catastrophically silent. Dawn, the sword that had split mountains and cleaved demon lords in two, shattered against the demon's palm. The celestial metal, harder than any known substance, crumbled into a million glittering shards. The shockwave of divine energy, meant to obliterate a continent, was simply absorbed into the demon's flesh, vanishing without a trace.Astraeus's eyes widened in disbelief. Before he could react, the demon's other hand shot forward, impossibly fast, and seized him by the throat. The grip was absolute. It was not just physical pressure; it was a spiritual and conceptual vise. The divine light pouring from Astraeus was choked off at its source, his power snuffed out like a flame. He was held aloft, helpless, his remaining sword, Dusk, falling from his nerveless fingers and clattering onto the blackened ground."You are bright," the Demon King's voice resonated in his mind, a cold, curious tone that was far more terrifying than rage. "A new star. But stars die."Panic, a long-forgotten and alien sensation, flared within Astraeus. He struggled, his divine strength useless against this absolute grip. He could feel his essence, his very godhood, being drained, consumed by the suffocating darkness of his captor. He looked past the demon's shoulder and saw the faces of the other gods, frozen in a mixture of horror and despair. They were watching their hope be extinguished.The demon's claws, sharp as fragments of obsidian, tightened. Ichor, the golden blood of the gods, welled up, sizzling against the demon's dark skin. The pain was a white-hot nova, but it was the humiliation that truly wounded him. To be held so easily, to be dismantled with such casual contempt—it was a fate worse than any honorable death in battle."You fought well," the voice continued, a final, chilling courtesy. "But you were born in the light. You cannot comprehend the dark."
The end came not with a roar, but with a sickening quiet. The Demon King's claws, dripping with Astraeus's own divine essence, pierced through the star-forged armor as if it were parchment. They sank into the war-god's chest, a cold, violating intrusion that targeted his divine core—the nexus of his power, his very soul.Astraeus gasped, a final, shuddering breath. The world dissolved into a blinding haze of agony. He felt his power, the starlight and courage that defined him, being ripped out. It was a hollowing, an unmaking. His body convulsed, the golden light of his form flickering violently, threatening to go out.He saw flashes of his immortal life: training in the celestial halls, his first battle, the pride in his father's eyes, the camaraderie of his fellow gods. All of it was being shredded, torn apart by the encroaching void. His existence was being erased.With his last ounce of consciousness, he met the Demon King's gaze. In those burning, malicious eyes, he saw nothing but an endless, empty hunger. There was no honor in this kill, no glory. It was simply an act of consumption. He was not a rival being defeated; he was a resource being harvested.Then, the demon pulled.Astraeus's divine core was torn from his body. It flared for a brilliant, tragic moment in the demon's hand—a miniature sun of pure, concentrated godhood—before it was crushed, its light extinguished forever.The body of Astraeus Ren, the fallen war-god, went limp. The golden light faded completely, leaving only the dull, cracked metal of his armor. The Demon King released his grip, and the empty vessel dropped to the ground with a final, hollow thud.For a moment, silence reigned over the battlefield. The gods stared, their spirits broken. The demons watched, their bloodlust sated by this ultimate display of power.The hope of the Pantheon was dead.But as the last spark of Astraeus's consciousness dissolved into the ether, a new sound emerged, unheard by any god or demon. It was a whisper, ancient and impossibly powerful, a voice from before time itself.