The skies above the Withered Throne were torn in half—one side bleeding crimson dusk, the other devoured by eternal night. Below it, the battlefield groaned beneath the weight of untold epochs. Shattered relics of once-divine civilizations littered the earth—burnt scrolls, broken swords, and crumbling statues of gods who were never worshipped.
In the center of it all, three stood where fate no longer held authority.
Jin. Zhel-Vorah. Nyreth.
And between them—the story of a universe, ready to collapse.
Their blades clashed in silence first. No fanfare. No divine choir. Just the sound of raw existence resisting erasure.
Each strike wasn't just force—it was memory. Pain. Regret. The ghosts of those they had lost screamed through the air with every impact.
Clang!
Jin's blade met Nyreth's.
Boom!
Zhel-Vorah's thunder roared, but Nyreth twisted time again—stepping between seconds, untouched.
Nyreth smirked, brushing dust from his shoulder.
"Now this... this moment... I'm really enjoying."
His voice was calm, dripping with mockery.
Jin narrowed his eyes, his tone like black steel.
"Laugh a little louder, Trickstar. I want to see if your grin holds after you're in pieces."
Zhel-Vorah leapt behind him—faster than lightning.
But again… nothing.
Nyreth altered the flow of causality. He rewrote the outcome before it happened. Every blade that came for him was never meant to land.
Zhel-Vorah growled.
"How many times will you run, Nyreth?! How many times will you twist the rules to escape justice?!"
Nyreth turned slowly, his face blank.
"I've always run. I'm not ashamed. History remembers me as the coward who lived. And I prefer that over a brave corpse."
Suddenly, steel pierced through his back—Jin's sword erupted from Nyreth's chest, coated in godblood.
Nyreth gasped, then snapped his fingers—healed instantly.
He whirled around, furious.
"That's cheating!"
Jin chuckled, his laugh dark and cruel.
"Cheating? That word means nothing in a world where you wrote the rules."
He leaned forward.
"If you're the coward of history… then I'm the coward of today. And cowards… will do anything to win."
Zhel-Vorah charged, his blade wrapped in thunder—the Thunder Fang.
With a roar, he slashed across Nyreth's chest, sending him skidding back across the ash-covered ground.
Zhel-Vorah spat blood.
"Then let me add to this madness. If you're cowards of history and today—then I'll be the coward of eternity."
Nyreth stood again, laughing as divine blood dripped from his lips. His eyes gleamed with twisted joy.
"Fascinating… Do you even understand what you are to me?"
He stretched his arms wide, like a prophet addressing a dying world.
"I changed destinies. I rewrote timelines. I designed this chaos. Jin—your pain, your strength, your journey—I forged it from shadows. Zhel-Vorah—I resurrected you. I named this tale Gates of Olympus."
He pointed to both.
"You were always mine. Jin, the protagonist. Zhel-Vorah, the final antagonist. But look at you now—standing together, like fools, to challenge the writer of your very existence."
He laughed with genuine madness.
"How poetic. How pathetic."
Jin raised his sword—but this time, his wings spread open. Light and darkness twirled around them, forming a storm that roared through the battlefield.
The thrones of old trembled.
"I'm not your protagonist."
He stepped forward. The vortex thickened.
"I'm not a hero. Not a villain. Not a supporting act or a footnote."
He raised his blade to the sky.
"I am Free Will. I am the one who saw every ending… and chose none."
Nyreth's grin faltered—just for a moment.
Their reflections shone in each other's blades.
Nyreth hissed.
"Then I'll just rewrite the ending."
He moved to strike—but Zhel-Vorah blurred in, his eyes burning.
"Then I'll carve a new ending… for my son."
BOOM!
Nyreth was hurled back, crashing through time-scarred pillars.
He roared, eyes glowing with vile light.
"Enough!"
With a snap, he summoned his Twin Serpents of Fate, monstrous coils that devoured reason itself.
But Jin's eyes were calm.
From his shadow rose a low hiss.
"Emerge… Basilisk."
From the void beneath him, a creature slithered out—scales black as the abyss, gaze strong enough to petrify stars.
The serpents never stood a chance. With a whisper, the Basilisk ended them.
Nyreth stepped back, pale.
"They died… I killed them. All of them…"
Jin's smile widened.
"And yet… they returned."
"Why?!"
"Because…"
He raised his hand.
"I exist."
From behind, a tide of shadows surged forward.
Bellon. Kong. Todra. Eian. Vionka. Ainez.
And more—warriors of the fallen, restored by Jin's will.
Zhel-Vorah raised his blade skyward.
Dragons soared down from the broken heavens—his ancient legion, roaring as one.
Nyreth snarled, and summoned his own armies—fragments of forgotten timelines, ghosts of tricked gods, failed heroes twisted into monsters.
And as both sides stared each other down…
The world held its breath.
The Throne World cracked.
And war began.