The Hollow Thrones had spoken.
And the abyss had answered.
The Invitation
At the edge of the void, a massive obsidian gate rose from nothingness smooth, seamless, humming with an ancient resonance. It was neither open nor closed, neither real nor imagined. It simply was.
In the citadel, Oscar sat beneath a sky blackened by his will. Before him lay the "invitation" a single coin, etched with unpronounceable runes, hovering just above the palm of his hand. It pulsed with a cold authority, tugging at something far deeper than soul or thought.
"The Feast has begun," said Selene, standing at his side.
Oscar closed his hand over the coin.
"No," he said softly. "The hunt has begun."
A Gathering of Kings and Corpses
In a place outside of existence, the Forgotten Crowns assembled.
These were not rulers of kingdoms or empires. These were beings who had conquered concepts dominated ideas so vast that their very presence distorted memory and time.
The Throne of Ash, crowned in embers, who ruled over ruin.
The Throne of Thirst, whose crown dripped with the blood of eternity.
The Throne of Chains, bound by the screams of broken laws.
And others. Many others.
At the center of it all: the Empty Throne, silent and waiting.
Oscar entered the chamber not as a guest, but as a challenge.
The moment he stepped into their domain, several thrones flinched. Others leaned forward.
"You walk boldly," murmured the Ash King. "But do you understand what you are?"
Oscar stared at him.
"I am what's left when gods fall. What grows where purpose dies. What breathes when belief ends."
"You're not one of us," said the Throne of Chains, its voice like grinding metal.
"I'm what comes after you."
The First Duel – The Thirst
One of the ancient kings stood The Throne of Thirst. A being who fed on desire, on longing, on need so deep it became existence itself.
"Let us see if the Abyss can drown Thirst."
With that, the chamber melted into a battlefield of impossible design a desert of mirrors, where every step reflected temptation.
Oscar felt it clawing at him.
A thousand lifetimes offered.
A chance to undo the pain.
To bring back the dead.
To be loved.
Worshipped.
Whole.
But Oscar did not crave.
He consumed.
With a wave of his hand, the illusions shattered, and the Thirst screamed as the abyss drank it whole.
Its throne cracked. Then crumbled.
One down.
The Thrones Stir
A hush fell over the court.
The Abyss had just unseated a concept that had existed longer than time itself.
And Oscar didn't flinch.
"Next?" he asked.
The Throne of Chains rose, eyes aflame with wrath.
"Let us bind your arrogance."
But before it could step forward, a new voice rang out a voice from the Empty Throne.
"Enough."
All turned toward the voice.
A figure now sat upon the once-empty throne. Cloaked in silence, eyes of white flame.
"You claim to be the end," it said. "Then prove it."
Oscar smiled, and for a brief moment, even the darkness around him dared not move.
The Throne Rejected
The chamber of the Forgotten Crowns trembled.
Where once the Empty Throne had been a symbol of neutrality a seat reserved for balance, judgment, and silence it was now claimed by something far worse.
Something that refused balance.
The figure seated upon the throne, cloaked in ancient flame and silence, studied Oscar with pale fire in its eyes.
"You carry no legacy. No bloodline. No divine ancestry. You are a mistake. A consequence of imbalance."
Oscar's voice cut through the suffocating pressure.
"No," he said. "I'm the result of everything you abandoned."
Cracks in Divinity
The Thrones murmured among themselves. A storm of ancient thought. One by one, their eyes turned toward the Empty Throne's new occupant.
It had no name. No allegiance.
But its presence was familiar.
Selene stepped beside Oscar, her blades humming with abyssal energy.
"That thing..." she whispered, narrowing her eyes. "It's not one of the Thrones. It never was."
Darius joined her, his armored boots grinding against the void beneath them.
"Then what is it?"
Oscar didn't answer.
Because he knew.
This wasn't a ruler.
This was the last survivor of the First Cycle. The one who had watched the multiverse born from the corpse of a forgotten god.
The one who had seen the abyss before it had a name.
A Test of Will
The new claimant to the throne rose slowly, as if the act itself threatened to undo reality.
"You came here to devour. To dominate," it said. "But your abyss is a child's tantrum compared to what once was."
The being raised its hand and time itself froze.
Selene vanished mid-step. Darius' movement halted. The other Thrones became statues. Even the abyss quieted, shrinking away from the presence of something older than fear.
Only Oscar remained unfrozen.
"Let me show you why this throne remained empty," it whispered.
In an instant, Oscar was elsewhere.
The Memory of the First Collapse
He stood in a world made of thought, floating between dying stars and screaming minds. Civilizations rose and fell in the span of seconds. Gods were born, worshipped, and forgotten before he could blink.
Oscar saw the First Abyss.
It was not a place.
It was a question.
Why?
And when no one could answer, it became a devouring force.
He saw what the Thrones had buried. What the multiverse feared.
And he saw what he could become.
The Refusal
Back in the chamber, Oscar blinked.
He was himself again.
But he was changed.
"I saw it," he said, staring at the Empty Throne's new occupant. "I saw the end. The real end."
The figure nodded.
"And now you fear it."
"No," Oscar said. "Now I reject it."
With a snap of his fingers, he shattered the frozen moment. Selene gasped back to life, Darius roared, and the abyss surged forward once more.
The thrones howled.
Oscar stepped forward and raised his hand toward the Empty Throne.
"You want a ruler," he said. "But I don't sit."
"I break thrones."
And with that he unmade the seat.
The Empty Throne crumbled, and the realm itself groaned in horror.
Shatterpoint
Heaven trembled.
Not from the tolling of its bells or the chanting of its choirs but from silence. A silence that rippled across its cloud-wrought halls, holy spires, and golden streets.
The silence of fear.
The Empty Throne was gone.
And the divine order shattered.
A Crack in the Firmament
Within the Sanctum of Eternal Light, Seraphiel the Archon of the First Choir stood atop the Sky Obelisk, watching the fracture spread across Heaven's border.
"It has begun," she whispered.
Behind her, legions of angels gathered, their wings spanning horizons, their lances humming with celestial might. But none of them stepped forward. None dared ask the question hanging heavy in the air.
"Who will lead now?"
Because the Thrones were silent.
The Light dimmed.
And the abyss, once a distant terror, now clawed at Heaven's gates.
Ethan's March
Below the stars, beyond the veil, the Abyss surged.
Ethan stood upon the crest of a newly formed realm his own creation crafted from the wreckage of collapsed dimensions and twisted faith.
The Throne World was gone, its ruins absorbed into the Abyssal Nexus. The unification of power had begun.
Selene approached him, blood and stars clinging to her armor.
"The Veil is thinning," she said. "We can strike Heaven next."
Ethan's eyes narrowed.
"No."
Selene blinked. "No?"
"We don't strike Heaven."
He turned toward the gathering storm above, the crack in reality that shimmered like broken glass.
"We let Heaven fall to us."
Aldric's Trial
Far beneath the surface of the Abyssal Nexus, Aldric stood in the Well of Reflection.
Before him visions.
His former self, clad in holy silver, sword raised in faith.
And his current self drenched in shadows, power coiled around his heart like a serpent.
"You betrayed everything you were," the vision hissed.
"I survived everything you couldn't," Aldric replied.
He reached out and shattered the illusion.
The Well pulsed.
And Aldric rose from the depths… transformed.
His wings once white were now a radiant black.
Not fallen.
Not corrupted.
Reforged.
The Fall Begins
As the fracture reached its peak, a beam of black light erupted from the Abyss and lanced through the heavens.
It pierced the Seventh Sky.
And as the celestial defenses shattered, a single trumpet sounded.
But it was not a call to arms.
It was a warning.
Heaven had faced rebellion before.
But never a force like this.
Never a conqueror who refused the old laws.
Never a warlord who sought not a crown but a new creation.