The moment the shadows consumed him, reality cracked.
The imperial palace, the throne, his allies—everything disintegrated, replaced by an endless void of swirling black mist. There was no floor beneath his feet, no sky above, only the abyss. It was not silent, but filled with a million whispers just below the edge of hearing. Not cold, not warm, but pressing—like unseen fingers brushing his skin, probing his mind.
He was in her domain now.
Kael exhaled, unshaken. His golden eyes burned with steady light in the void. "Show me what you will, Mother. It changes nothing."
A low, sultry laugh echoed, curling through the mist like smoke. Feminine. Amused. Dangerous.
"Arrogant, as always."
The darkness shifted.
Figures emerged from the mist, coalescing into silhouettes—faceless at first, then horrifyingly familiar.
* Auron, the fallen Hero, his shattered armor dragging behind him, eyes burning with betrayed fury.
* Lucian, mouth stained with blood, snarling like a cornered beast.
* Duke Reinhardt, noble pride twisted into savage hatred, blade drawn.
* Emperor Castiel, cold and imperious, spectral crown glinting with disdain.
Kael stood unmoved.
"A parade of ghosts? How quaint."
His mother's voice whispered, no longer amused. "Every conqueror bears the weight of those they've broken. Are you strong enough to carry them?"
The phantoms lunged.
Kael didn't move. He willed.
Golden fire erupted around him, not of flame, but of sheer force of self—will made manifest.
The phantoms screamed as they were obliterated, shattering like glass before a storm.
The Abyss recoiled.
Kael stepped forward, his smirk like a knife. "If this is the Abyss' judgment, it is already mine."
Laughter again, deeper this time. Not mockery—satisfaction.
"Good," she said. "Then claim it."
The void shifted once more, folding upon itself. In its center, a throne rose.
It was vast, jagged, sculpted from living shadow. It pulsed, not like a heart—but like a beast breathing. It shifted with every glance, refusing form, ancient beyond mortal reckoning. This was no mere seat—it was Dominion incarnate.
At its base stood her.
His mother.
Her dark silver hair flowed like liquid night, eyes burning crimson. Her robes seemed woven from void itself. She wasn't smiling now—but watching. Measuring.
"This is the throne of the Abyss," she said. "It has consumed gods. Broken kings. If you wish to carve your own path… sit. And make it yours."
Kael's gaze was steady—not on the throne, but on her.
"What happens if I sit?" he asked.
"You will claim your birthright," she said softly. "Or be erased."
Silence.
Then, Kael moved.
Each step toward the throne made the void groan. The air thickened, like walking through time itself. The throne seemed to watch him, resisting definition, resisting dominion.
He reached it.
Placed a hand upon the armrest.
Shadows lashed out—wrapping around his limbs, his chest, his throat. They sought his mind, his soul, his identity.
The whispers came.
"You are a shadow of her." "You are nothing without us." "You will kneel, as all do."
Kael's lips curled.
"Lies."
His power ignited—golden light, cold and absolute, clashing against the living void. It wasn't magic—it was Kael. His identity, his will, his refusal.
The throne shuddered.
Then… it bent.
The shadows writhed—then embraced him.
The Abyss yielded.
Kael sat.
And in that moment, the void knelt.
The abyssal mist calmed, orbiting him like moons to a sun. The throne no longer shifted—it settled, taking form around him, as if it had waited an eternity for this moment.
His mother approached slowly, eyes wide—not with surprise, but reverence.
"You truly are my son," she whispered.
Kael leaned back, one leg crossed, golden eyes gleaming from atop the throne.
"No," he murmured. "I am more."
In that moment, a subtle tremor passed through the Abyss.
And far beyond it, in celestial halls, in divine citadels, among the highest thrones of the gods—
They felt it.
Something had changed.
Kael now sat upon the Throne of the Abyss.
And he was not content to rule only one realm.
To be continued...