The stars above had always been still. Silent. Majestic. But now they trembled—warped by energy not seen since the first fall of light.
Shadow stood at the edge of the ancient gate: the Shard of Ascalor. An obsidian arch, older than language, carved in the ruins of forgotten gods. It was not meant for mortals—or even demons. It was made for Titans. But it would serve them now.
He extended his arm, and the gate groaned open, fire and starlight bleeding through its cracks like the skin of a dying star. Behind him stood the chosen: his inner circle.
Valarie, battle-clad in black and silver, her wings faintly glowing with fallen grace.
Lidow, no longer a boy, but a force of will. His blade hummed with light and shadow—his father's legacy and his mother's truth forged into one.
Thorn and Syrah followed, silent and ready. And with them, the last of the Nine's remnants—not soldiers, but believers.
"This is the final gate," Shadow said, his voice quiet but absolute. "Beyond it… there is no turning back."
Lidow stepped forward, his expression hard. "Then let's not look behind."
The gate opened with a scream.
—
The Upper Realms – Veilspace
The Upper Realms were nothing like Earth or Hell.
They were… clean.
Perfect sky. Endless white. Buildings made of crystal that sang when you walked. And a sun that never moved. But beneath the beauty, Shadow felt it—the lie. The control. Every blade of grass arranged. Every angel that passed by looked exactly the same: emotionless, empty.
"This is not peace," Valarie whispered. "It's order without freedom."
And then they came.
Not saints. Not soldiers.
But watchers. Thousands. Glowing eyes. Floating armor. Divine weapons drawn.
A voice called from above, neither male nor female.
"You were warned, King of Hell. You defied balance."
Shadow looked up. "You tried to erase my son. You declared war."
A beam of holy fire dropped from the heavens, straight toward him—
—and was stopped.
Shadow raised one hand. The light cracked.
Then it shattered.
"Balance… was never real."
He lifted his sword, black as void, and stepped forward.
"Now feel the chaos you feared."
—
The Battle Begins
The watchers descended in a storm. Valarie's wings burst wide, her eyes glowing with wrath and mercy. She carved through them with blades of refracted light, her movements a dance of destruction.
Thorn led the ground charge, his magic igniting the marble underfoot, turning perfection into ash. Syrah roared, flanking him, blood-soaked and wild.
And Lidow… oh, Lidow.
He moved through the battlefield like a star reborn. His blade tore through enemies with silent rage, his power flickering between holy and infernal. One watcher tried to strike him with a spear of purity.
Lidow caught it—with his bare hand.
It melted in his grip.
Above them, Shadow rose like a god. Wings of shadow spread full. Fire in one hand. Light in the other. His body, cloaked in runes, pulsed with power no realm had ever seen.
He faced the Upper Council, their thrones floating above the temple of light.
They stared down at him.
And for the first time…
They hesitated.
He spoke a single sentence:
"This is your reckoning."
He raised his hand—
And darkness answered.
The sky over the Sanctum of the Eternal Council was no longer silver—it was fractured, cracked like a mirror under the weight of war. Celestial towers burned, the once-holy bells silenced by shadowfire. Thunder echoed not from the heavens, but from war drums and collapsing sanctuaries.
Shadow stood on a jagged ledge overlooking the city of the divine, armor scorched black and trimmed with red veins of demonic aura. His horns curved like ancient obsidian blades, and his cape fluttered behind him, torn and soaked with the blood of saints. Behind him, his army of hybrids—demons, outcasts, and converted lightbearers—marched without hesitation. At his side stood Valarie, her blade glowing with twisted light, and Lidow, now sixteen, masked and cloaked in dual energy—neither fully light, nor shadow.
"We end this," Shadow said calmly, though rage burned behind his voice like magma beneath ice.
The gates of the sanctum opened with a scream of magic. Seven highborns of the Council emerged—wreathed in halos, each wearing robes stitched with the breath of stars. The central figure, Saint Aevir, stepped forward. His wings shimmered gold and white, towering over the others. His voice echoed like chimes of judgment.
"You were once a boy. Now, you bring ruin."
"I was once a boy you cast into the abyss," Shadow replied. "Now I return as the abyss itself."
Aevir raised his staff. "Then let us see if the throne you seek can be taken by wrath alone."
The battle erupted. Aevir struck first, summoning columns of divine energy that vaporized the ground. Shadow dashed through them like a phantom, parrying blasts with a sweep of his demonic blade. Valarie clashed with two other Saints, her light-scarred armor reflecting their doubt in every blow. Lidow, untamed but burning bright, danced between shadows, casting beams of pure twilight, staggering even the most seasoned warriors.