《Angels of Demise》


 Chapter 1: A Symphony of Crimson

    I sat in the back rows, in the farthest seat from control, watching chaos unfold. Everything felt surreal, like witnessing an orchestra of violence conducted by an unseen hand. I couldn¡¯t make sense of it, yet there I was, thrust into the heart of it.


    It began with a tragedy¡ªa bloodbath that should never have occurred in a world that knew only peace. There was no reason for war, no cause worth spilling blood over, yet it started. And we, the unwilling and unprepared, were drafted into its unforgiving current.


    Now, we all play our roles in this grotesque theater of weapons and flesh. As for me, I¡¯m just a man¡ªan ordinary mortal with no talent, the owner of a body neither designed to fight nor dominate. Yet here I stand, clutching a newly sharpened knife and stumbling through the motions of killing others. The gruesome details of my comrades¡ªno, my acquaintances of barely ten days¡ªbeing shattered, stabbed, and slaughtered will haunt me. Still, we called each other comrades. Together, we performed in this ghastly play under the cold, cruel lights of the battlefield, a stage selling tickets to a spectacle of mercilessness.


    The battlefield itself was indifferent, hosting death as its nightly star. Tonight, my murderer took the stage¡ªa man like me, ordinary, terrified, and teetering on the edge of despair. His eyes, wide with fear and brimming with tears, mirrored my own. His appearance¡ªgear that barely fit, a gun at his belt, a larger one slung across his back, and a sharp object in his trembling hand¡ªstruck me as painfully familiar.


    He had an unnatural black tooth. I¡¯d heard of those. Bite hard enough, and it releases poison to kill its bearer swiftly and painlessly. A grim tool of escape, devised by assassins for when capture becomes inevitable. A symbol of resolve¡ªor lack thereof¡ªfor those who couldn¡¯t muster the strength to bite their own tongue.


    He¡¯s crying. He¡¯s crying and running. He¡¯s crying and running toward me, clutching¡­ a sword? No, a long knife¡­ no, it is a sword. Why not use the gun, young man? It¡¯s right there. Then again, none of us¡ªmy comrades or I¡ªwere given such luxuries. Perhaps he¡¯s trying to play fair? Such foolishness will kill you, my war-friend. As for us? It seems that we were sent here to die, barely armed and unready.


    My mind races back to the ironic theater: the man in command laughing with his fellows as if selling tickets. "Tonight''s play: Lambs to the slaughterhouse!"


    Is it funny? Pathetic? A comedy or a tragedy? I cannot choose.


    They¡ªthe ones in control¡ªsent a gardener to war. That¡¯s what I was, after all. My complaint isn¡¯t loud because I am complicit. I didn¡¯t pick up the sword when I had the chance. Instead, I chose to be a gardener in the midst of a battlefield, not a warrior safeguarding peace.


    And then¡­ SLASH.


    The sound of flesh yielding. Warm, smooth¡­ my flesh. The blade slides into me as if my body was meant for it. Pain should follow, shouldn¡¯t it? But there¡¯s nothing. No burning, no sharp sting. It¡¯s oddly¡­ quiet. I¡¯ve cut myself before, slicing my finger with a kitchen knife while preparing meals with my wife. That pain was immediate, searing. Yet now? Now there is nothing.


    I try to process the moment. My body doesn¡¯t respond. My limbs won¡¯t move, my face won¡¯t turn. I can¡¯t even close my eyes. But from the corner of my vision, I see him¡ªthe young man who stabbed me. He¡¯s fallen, his body impaled on something unnatural.


    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.A weapon? No, claws. Yes, claws. WAIT! CLAWS? My vision sharpens as I strain to see more. Yes, claws, monstrous and grotesque, tearing through flesh. The young man¡¯s body hangs limp, lifeless. My mind reels. Claws don¡¯t belong on this battlefield. They belong in stories, in nightmares¡­ in monsters.


    Then it dawns on me.


    The claws are mine.


    They protrude from my hands, dripping with the young man¡¯s blood. My hands, twisted and alien, wield these instruments of death. The realization crashes over me like a tidal wave, drowning every thought, every memory, every fragment of my humanity.


    What am I?


    The symphony of crimson continues, but I now am audience in the body of its conductor.


    As for my body¡­?


    My body¡­


    My body has claws! I don¡¯t remember my body being capable of something like this. Panic grips my mind, but the sensation is distant, drowned by the cacophony of chaos around me. As my unresponsive body moves on its own, a scene ripped from a horror movie unfolds before my frozen, unmoving eyes: the claws retract from the young man¡¯s lifeless form, dripping crimson. They don¡¯t stay still for long, though.


    Like predatory beasts with minds of their own, the claws lash out again in a relentless search for another victim. They seem to guide me, or perhaps they are the ones in control. I try to refocus, desperate for any clarity, and my gaze catches fleeting glimpses in the battlefield¡¯s pools of blood and rainwater.


    Then, I see it.


    For a split second, I see myself. The body I once called mine is nowhere to be found. In its place is a mockery of my former form¡ªa grotesque abomination coated in a molten black substance that fails miserably to mimic humanity. Its surface writhes, as though alive, shifting unnaturally with every movement.


    And the wings.


    Three wings extend from the creature¡¯s back, uneven and misshapen. One appears feathered, almost angelic, but its darkness betrays its purity. The second is leathery, jagged, and monstrous, a devil¡¯s appendage in every sense. The third, smeared in streaks of crimson, resembles a bird¡¯s wing, soaked in the blood of the fallen and stained by the battlefield itself.


    I try to close my eyes, but I lost control over the body long, long ago. The head¡ªit has no face. No semblance of human features remains. It¡¯s an ever-shifting mass, twisting grotesquely in an endless cycle, as if taunting my mind to comprehend it.


    The body, if it can still be called that, is covered in veins. They pulse with an unnatural rhythm, glowing faintly as though alive, yet there¡¯s no heartbeat¡ªat least not one I can feel. From the gaping wound where the sword pierced my chest, black tendrils sprout, writhing like serpents.


    The sword is still there, embedded in my heart¡ªor where my heart should be. Can¡¯t really tell if a heart is there anymore now, but if this information helps, I never felt a heartbeat, not once. Hmm, now that I think about it, I never felt a heartbeat ever since I was born. Perhaps this is the reason why this body¡­ this hideous, wretched thing¡­ it moves as if possessed, tearing through soldiers like a beast unleashed.

 Chapter 2: Rest is for the Blessed

    The battlefield continues. Every passing second, a new life is stolen, snuffed out as if it never mattered.


    How?


    Why?


    What are we?


    I say ''we'' because, even though I lack control, my eyes are dragged through the carnage my body¡ªno, this ''thing''¡ªunleashes. The massacre unfolds, each moment more grotesque than the last, and I am forced to witness it all. My comrades¡­


    No, not comrades anymore.


    They share one dreadful, unifying detail with me: a sword lodged into their hearts. I see them transform, each blade piercing flesh serving as a grotesque key, unlocking horrors beyond comprehension. Their bodies warp into monstrous forms, just as mine has, grotesque parodies of life that exist only to destroy. These beasts are mindless, their original owners long dead, eyes glazed over, vacant of any trace of the person who once inhabited them.


    It is clear¡­ Crystal clear that the souls of those bodies abandoned and ascended from them. I can see it right in their eyes!


    But¡­ why am I different? What did I do to be undeserving of ascension?


    Why¡­ The lifelessness in their eyes, the absence of humanity in their movements. Why am I still here? Why must I bear witness to this madness, tethered to a body that isn¡¯t mine anymore?If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    I want to scream, but my mouth isn¡¯t mine to open.


    I want to close my eyes, but the beast that stole my body commands them to stay open.


    I want to cry, but my tears are lost, as dry and lifeless as the shell I¡¯ve become.


    This body, this unholy mass of shifting black and crimson, does nothing but kill¡ªmercilessly, indiscriminately. I am a passenger, forced to watch as it crafts new atrocities with every passing moment.


    At first, it slaughtered soldiers¡ªpeople who were as frightened, as unwilling, as I was when this nightmare began. But¡­ the slaughter doesn¡¯t end with the people.


    The lambs sent to this slaughterhouse¡ªmy comrades and I¡ªhave returned as demons from hell, wreaking vengeance on the living. Every warrior, every soldier, is torn apart in the most horrendous ways imaginable.


    But when the battlefield runs out of victims, the creatures hunt anew.


    Birds, elegant and fragile creatures, flitting through the carnage in futile attempts to escape.


    That¡¯s when it happened.


    A mouth¡ªa gaping maw lined with countless, endless teeth¡ªemerged from a skyscraper-like neck, stretching impossibly high above the battlefield. The monstrous neck followed them, snatching a flock of birds mid-flight, and crushed them with a crunch so violent it felt like the earth itself recoiled. A sound that could make even Beelzebub abandon his feasts from disgust.


    The trees are next. Gnarled claws tear through ancient trunks, shredding them into splinters. Some of the beasts turn to the sky, gnashing their ever-multiplying jaws at the clouds. They devour them, bite by impossible bite, ripping apart the heavens themselves.


    The scene before me is one that could shatter a soul with a single glance. It¡¯s a nightmare that makes you question the very fabric of reality.


    This movie of carnage, this masterpiece of terror, can only raise one singular question now: Is the sun next?

 Chapter 3: Just a moment of respite... Please!

    It began with the participants in war. Their blood was the first, their lives the seeds of this grotesque feast. But it didn¡¯t end there. Once the battlefield ran dry of victims, the hunger persisted, insatiable, demanding more.


    The birds came next. Fragile creatures that soared above the chaos, desperate to escape. Their wings were no match for the monstrous maws that erupted from these twisted forms.


    The trees followed, shredded like paper. Branches splintered, roots clawed out, their essence consumed by creatures that should not exist. The earth itself trembled as these abominations burrowed deeper, devouring life at its most fundamental level.


    Then the skies¡ªthe very heavens¡ªwere eaten. Clouds vanished into gaping maws, stars dimmed as if they feared to shine upon the horror below. Night and day blurred as the creatures stretched upward, devouring the atmosphere, the layers of air that had once given breath to all living things.


    But it was not enough. These beasts moved across the world, their persistence unfaltering, their hunger unending, consuming as much and as many as possible. The worst crimes committed by the sin of Gluttony are mere jokes compared to what these beasts have done. And I? I was a forced witness.


    Before my eyes, which I could not close no matter how much I willed it, tragedies unraveled like storybooks in a cursed library. I saw them swallow houses with people inside. Horrific imagery burned into my mind: the pure and loyal falling alongside the sinful to jaws that come not from this reality. Final words, cries of despair, and prayers to gods that would never answer will now haunt me endlessly.


    They consumed rivers as if parched but did not stop at water. Their thirst craved destruction. Mountains and even volcanoes¡ªyes, even those brimming with molten lava¡ªwere devoured without a second¡¯s hesitation. The fire posed no hardship to their endless hunger.


    ...


    Would the sun itself truly fall victim to this gluttony?


    ...


    The thought raced through the remnants of my mind. I wanted to deny it, to cling to hope, but that hope was shattered as I saw how every land, every sea, every corner of the world fell victim to their relentless consumption. The planet itself was slurped from existence by my very jaws.


    However, this was not enough. The creatures turned to the stars surrounding what I once called home. One by one, they devoured the celestial bodies, each a glowing tribute to life now extinguished in their voracious wake. Planets came next, and then they set their sights on the sun itself. It, too, was consumed, its light extinguished forever.


    Effortlessly.


    The remnants of the solar system stood no chance, swept away in the tide of endless destruction.


    Now? Thrown into an endless cosmos, here is where they began mindlessly attacking all there is to be: accumulations of stars, planets, and their satellites, black holes, pieces of the void, devouring entire systems as they came across them. These beings did not merely crave destruction; they sought to annihilate existence itself. Before they could accomplish this, however, gods, avatars and concepts appeared before me in their physical forms, attempting to stop them. At first, they used the might granted by their very essence, but even these divine interventions were forced to escalate, revealing the full extent of their power.


    It was futile. Even the Concept of Finality itself, the bedrock of ALL endings, was consumed. The Abstraction representing Superiority fell, and not even the Avatar of Survival¡­ survived. All were mauled and hacked apart by teeth that not only resisted decay but seemed to grow sharper, larger, and more numerous with every bite. Reality itself crumbled under their assault, yet these creatures only grew stronger.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    In the end, one voice remained¡ªa cruel and mocking voice belonging to a Jester God. A God of Luck and Jokes¡ªhow ironic in this situation, a God made of stories being the last one to survive, yet has no one to tell the story to... and is soon to be devoured next.


    Through maniacal laughter, it wove a tale of tragedy, futility, and endless despair. Was it speaking to me? To the soul trapped in this abomination, unable to ascend or find peace?


    Or has He fell victim to His own insanity?


    The Jester¡¯s words revealed the bitter truth: these creatures always return. Each time they are destroyed, they revive in a new form with a new story. Eradicated countless times before, they are reborn under different names, different appearances, but with the same ultimate goal: to consume all of existence. Even the gods could not erase them, for their curse is rooted in the fundamental flaws of existence itself. These monsters began as malice incarnate, born not only from betrayal, despair, and hatred but from any form of attack or defense. From the smallest organism clinging to life¡ªan act that should be seen as beauty and perseverance¡ªbut isn¡¯t.


    The story of a poor girl, sweet and innocent, who devoted her life to medicine but was betrayed by her village and unjustly branded a witch. Burned at the stake, a spark of malice that craves revenge birthed true witches into the world. Their tools, their accursed magical instruments, were the forms these abominations took at the time. Slowly, these tools grew out of control, forcing the gods to reset that universe entirely.


    Another universe bore witness to a tragedy of science. Doctors seeking to end the disease all humans share¡ªmortality¡ªexperimented recklessly, unleashing zombified organisms. Avatars had to intervene and destroy the universe before the infection could evolve further.


    In yet another timeline, a futuristic utopia seemed unbreakable. But even there... technology turned against its creators, threatening all existence. This time, the Concept of The End, an eldritch abomination capable of what these very beasts desire, was summoned to tie up the loose ends. Yet these were but three of countless stories that shared two unchanging details: the spark of malice that birthed the monsters and their insatiable desire to devour ALL, hoping to end ALL THERE IS TO EVER BE, alongside with their own cursed lives.


    To them, it makes sense! If you think about it, it does makes sense! If nothing exists, then they shouldn¡¯t either!


    IT!


    JUST!


    MAKES!


    FUCKING SENSE!


    ...


    But no story is so gentle as to end here... or ever.


    And this story... This is the story of their success. Sort of...


    After an infinite amount of revivals and failures, they finally overcame the defenders of existence. They consumed everything¡ªall that dared to exist within reality¡ªand finally, reality itself. As the last fragments of creation vanished, the final, insane laugh of a broken individual echoed through the void:


    ¡°I¡¯LL OFFER YOU THE KINDNESS OF NAMING YOU! HAHAHA! ANGELS OF DEMISE! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!¡±


    The Jester God¡¯s final words.


    It was finally over. Nothing existed. No stars, no planets, no light, no dark. Not even time remained.


    Finally, they could rest. Right? I mean, it¡¯s finally over, no?


    Wrong.


    Nothing happened. The curse endured. They could not die.


    The beasts could no longer endure. They embraced insanity, and in their madness, they turned on each other as a final effort. They tore at what might loosely be called their allies, rending flesh, breaking bones, and crushing the very cores of their endless existence. Heads and hearts, brains and stomachs were destroyed again and again. But no matter the damage inflicted, regeneration followed without fail. They rebuilt themselves, helpless against the curse.


    Again.


    And again.


    Over and over.


    They repeated this pitiful scene an infinite number of times, each time regenerating faster than before. Trapped in a never-ending torment they never sought, the beasts¡ªand the soul imprisoned within¡ªremained.


    At some point, all the beasts tried to hack the new owner of my body, and a thought hit me: Was my soul the reason they were not allowed to ascend? Doesn¡¯t matter¡ªevery fang¡¯s bite, every claw¡¯s scratch was instantaneously healed as if pressing an undo button.


    What could these abominations do? Nothing. They had obliterated existence with a fragment of their strength, yet they were powerless against the endless life forced upon them. Eventually, they realized the futility of their struggles.


    They stopped fighting.


    They stopped moving.


    They stopped acting.


    They stopped breathing. (Were they breathing to begin with?)


    They stopped everything. Most importantly, they stopped... thinking.


    Death refused them. They had no choice but to improvise.


    And now...


    ¡°I¡¯m all alone.¡±


    ¡°Oh my, I can think in mind now, slightly clearer thoughts than before, but it¡¯s still an upgrade from the passenger I¡¯ve been for the past endless eternity.¡±


    But that doesn¡¯t remedy the situation I find myself in. NOTHING EXISTS. Not even the beasts function anymore. I am alone, utterly and completely alone, in an endless sea of darkness.


    Again... Nothing exists anymore!


    I am an individual waiting for something.


    But there is nothing.

 Chapter 4: And there was...

    And waiting I did. In the sea of nothingness, I lasted for eternities.


    The first eon was spent in awe, appreciating what had transpired thus far. Beasts of forgotten stories lay rotting against time. No matter how much they consumed, destroyed, or grew, they were never destined to win. Only to suffer. The question from before resurfaced: Was my soul¡¯s inability to ascend the reason they couldn¡¯t destroy everything? Was I the key to... something?


    Thoughts and thoughts, clearer with each passing moment, churned until I regained my mind in full again.


    Then came the second eon. I regained my ability to speak!


    ¡°AMAZING! I think this is the first time we interact, dear reader? Please forgive my intrusion upon your reality in such a manner, but here where I am, nothing exists anymore, and I need a companion to converse with, even if one-sided such as this. Allow me to indulge in this moment, please.¡±


    ...


    Now that my thirst for sound has been sated, I can return to the solitude of inexistence that my very body has created against my will. I would say that nothing¡¯s here, existence is no longer, and I¡¯m still alone, repeating myself mindlessly like a broken record, but I¡¯d be lying! There¡¯s my soul, now capable of clear thoughts through a noisy voice. Quite delightful!Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    "I wonder what''s to come!?" ¨C A question of terror and despair... was abandoned for now...


    How about we answer questions we can, for now, such as "What happened the next eon?" Well, that time I actually regained control over my sight...


    I think?


    I can¡¯t really tell if I truly regained vision because it went from the blank nothing I had before to a fresh new black of no light or hope. But that doesn¡¯t matter, because by the time the eon ended, I could feel. I regained control over my hands! Not only that, but before it''s conclusion, I was able to fully walk and float around! Nothing exists, so I can improvise which stance I prefer after all.


    But that bliss would soon come to an end, as for endless cycles of dark and terrifying time, I witnessed...


    Nothing.


    Against time, nothing!


    In space was nothing!


    And my mind slowly decayed. I¡¯m human after all¡ªat least my soul if not my body. And eventually, I succumbed to sleep as no progress was made for the upcoming eternities, where my hope slowly shattered and dissipated.


    I yielded... to sleep.


    A sleep of the soul, long and cold, not uncomfortable¡ªyet weird. A sleep where my mind turned off, and I abandoned the ability to think, just like the beasts did after losing their hope for...


    Something?

 Chapter 5: SOMEONE!?

    A cosmic sleep. A slumber measured not in moments but in epochs so vast that human comprehension would falter.


    I had become it¡ªa being of boundless power, capable of ultimate destruction. And yet, in equal measure, I was lesser than the humblest statue: an existence that teetered on the edge of awareness and brokenness, embraced by a paradoxical absence of purpose. Everything drowned in it¡ªthe nothingness, the sea of endless void.


    Nothing and no one.


    Nothing and nowhere.


    Nothing and never.


    ...Until it happened.


    At first, it was faint. A sound, unlike my voice, unlike the echo of my thoughts that had served as my only companions in this endless blank canvas. The mere notion of something else existing struck a chord in me that I had thought lost to time.


    It was real.


    Desperation and curiosity clawed at my shattered mind. Wrapping my focus tightly around this anomaly, I willed myself to sharpen. To listen. To grasp.


    And then it hit me¡ªa revelation like a tidal wave crashing against a brittle cliff. I had regained control over my body. For the first time in eons. Could I muster the strength to open my eyes? To truly see and hear?


    ¡°WOAAH!¡±


    The voice, high-pitched and sweet, filled an unfamiliar atmosphere. Atmosphere? Could such a thing exist in this void?


    ¡°What are you doing here, mister?¡± the voice asked, a curious tone laced within its melody.


    Companionship. The thought of it slipping away because of my silence terrified me. It was a sharper fear than the day I saw my home swallowed by my uncontrollable self. I couldn¡¯t lose this chance¡ªnot now. I had to act, had to respond. My determination surged, and with it, I burst out of my mental paralysis. I forced open my eyes and ears, awakening to a world that I¡¯d long forgotten.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    The First Sight


    Light. Blinding, yet soft. My eyes stung, unfamiliar liquid pooling around them. Blurred shapes began to take form, and for the first time in countless ages, I saw.


    A washed yellow-gray surrounded me, familiar yet alien. It took a moment to remember. Colors. Yes, I had seen these before. My mind fought to grasp the words¡ªto name these sensations that felt so distant.


    Rocks.


    Yes, rocks. I was lying on something rough and solid. The tough feeling beneath my hands and body confirmed it. My breath hitched as I tried to take in more. My gaze shifted upward to a ceiling, not of open sky but of crumbling, jagged stone.


    Ruins.


    That was the word. Ruins. My memory stuttered to life, naming the fractured architecture surrounding me.


    And then my eyes lowered to her.


    A young girl. A real, living person stood before me. My mind faltered, caught between disbelief and awe. She had two normal ears and two more perched atop her head. A long, swishing tail moved behind her, the sharp glint of claws adorning her small hands. Her bright, curious eyes fixed on me with a mixture of concern and excitement.


    ¡°What are you?¡±


    The words spilled from me, raw and desperate, my voice unpracticed but clear. It felt foreign, speaking to another after so long. But it felt... right.


    ¡°Hm? Are you asking for Ryna¡¯s name, mister?¡± she replied between sharp teeth, tilting her head.


    ¡°Ryna?¡±


    ¡°Yes! Ryna¡¯s name is Ryna!¡± she chirped, her tail wagging with enthusiasm.


    Her name echoed in my mind. The first name I had spoken to in eons. I latched onto it like a lifeline.


    ¡°Ryna... what is this place? Where am I? And¡ªif you don¡¯t mind¡ªwhat are you? Your tail, your ears... I¡¯ve never seen anyone like you before.¡± My voice quivered, the flood of questions barely restrained by my longing to prolong this dialogue.


    Ryna blinked, her expression turning puzzled. ¡°Mister doesn¡¯t know about Ryna¡¯s world?¡±


    I chuckled softly in my mind. Wasn¡¯t I the one asking the questions here? I pushed forward, my honesty bared. ¡°No, Ryna, I don¡¯t know much of anything, actually.¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± Her eyes lit up with understanding. ¡°Ryna is a girl!¡±


    ¡°Yes, Ryna, I can see that,¡± I replied, a wry amusement rising within me. ¡°But what kind? I¡¯ve heard in tales, something like your kind... cat-people, I think?¡±


    Her tail swished again, this time with pride. ¡°Ah! Ryna and her friends are nekojin, mister!¡±


    Nekojin. The word felt strange on my tongue, yet it carried a certain rhythm. I nodded slowly, as if repeating it to myself would engrave it deeper in my memory.


    She continued, her ears twitching as she observed me curiously. ¡°Mister is strange. Where did you come from?¡±


    The question struck a chord, and I hesitated. Where had I come from? How could I possibly explain the endless void, the eons of nothingness, the unbearable weight of being?


    Ryna waited patiently, her curious eyes unwavering. She didn¡¯t look away, didn¡¯t retreat from the strange entity before her. For the first time in ages, I felt a glimmer of something I thought I¡¯d lost forever.


    Hope.

 Chapter 6: A temporary answer

    Ryna, the nekojin girl who had awakened me from my eternal slumber, awaited a reply to her question, "Where did I come from?" - I copy her sentence.


    A simple question, yet it carried the weight of my existence.


    Where, huh? Could I simply say Earth? From the year 5547? The land of green valleys and sapphire skies¡ªa place that was swallowed by war at the command of the beasts'' fate? No, that wouldn¡¯t fly. That place is long gone¡ªno, worse than that¡ªit never exists!


    Could I tell her the story of a soul trapped within its own monstrous vessel? Of the days when I was alien even to myself, rampaging through realities I neither understood nor belonged to? No, that wouldn''t be a proper reply.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    What could she make of the truth? That I am a being now older than time itself? A relic of destruction, surviving long after even the stars had burned out?


    A sigh escaped me, unbidden and heavy.


    No answer would ever truly explain. No truth could be neatly packaged into words that wouldn¡¯t shatter. And so, I chose the only answer that felt right.


    "...Home."


    The single word slipped past my lips. A word so simple, yet heavy with the weight of lost worlds, endless journeys, and of a longing I had long thought dead.


    Ryna blinked, her feline ears twitching as if listening not just to the sound but to the meaning beneath it. She didn¡¯t press further, only nodding as if home was all the explanation she needed.


    And maybe, in this moment...


    It was...

 Chapter 7: My... name?

    The interaction so far awakened something within me¡ªa dream, faint and fragile, yet compelling. It came accompanied by a whisper that clung to my mind like the remnants of an old melody.


    "Home, huh? Perhaps I''ll..."


    The sentence trailed into silence as I stopped myself. It was a dangerous thought. How could I forget what I truly was? A soul encased in a beast of endless power, a vessel with an insatiable craving for destruction. To awaken that creature would almost certainly replay the horrors of that moment¡ªthe moment when all was consumed, when entire realities succumbed to the nightmare I embodied.


    But what if the beast never returned? After all, it had longed for its own end. So much so, in fact, that it had ceased to think entirely, its mind abandoned to stillness in its desperate bid for death. That¡¯s why I existed now, in this tenuous state of control. The monster¡¯s silence was my chance.


    I would tread carefully. Yet, for now, I allowed myself a small sliver of hope.


    "...Perhaps I''ll craft the house of my dreams and live a peaceful life."


    "Mister! That sounds great! Can Ryna accompany you?" she exclaimed, her sparkling eyes wide with excitement.


    Her enthusiasm pulled me from my musings. I began to move, shifting against the stones that had entombed me. My body had been trapped beneath boulders¡ªtruly stuck there, as if the ruins themselves had tried to keep me hidden. Ryna had been laboring to free me, her small hands clawing away bits of rubble. Yet she had barely managed to move the smallest of rocks.


    As for me? I stood up without a shred of effort, the boulders shattering as though they were made of glass.


    "WOAH! Mister is so strong!" Ryna exclaimed, her awe shining brightly.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    I stared at my hands, flexing my fingers. They felt familiar, yet alien¡ªa paradox I couldn¡¯t quite reconcile. These were the hands I¡¯d known before the war, before the unthinkable had happened. My body¡­ it was whole again. Human. That explained why Ryna had been curious rather than terrified. She had not seen the true form I once bore¡ªthe form that struck fear into the hearts of Gods and higher beings.


    A small chuckle escaped me. "Haah. I guess so."


    Ryna tilted her head, her feline ears twitching. "Hmm. Hey, mister! Ryna doesn¡¯t know your name! What¡¯s mister¡¯s name?"


    Oh. How careless of me. I¡¯d forgotten to introduce myself. Yet as I opened my mouth to answer, I hesitated.


    My name.


    Did I even have one anymore? The eternity¡ªno, time itself¡ªhad eroded that part of me, leaving it indistinct, like a faded engraving on an ancient monument. What had they called me before everything crumbled to dust? Whatever it was, it was lost now. Perhaps it was fitting to start anew.


    "My name is..."


    But before I could finish, a memory surfaced, vivid and intrusive. I saw it clearly: the Jester God¡¯s demise, the moment he branded us with his mockery. Back then, we had been many, a chorus of ruin known as the Angels of Demise. Now, there was only me. Alone. If I were to bear the weight of such a title, what name could suit me better than that of the ultimate fallen being? A name that echoed through myth and fear?


    "Lucifer."


    I spoke it aloud, letting it settle into the air. It felt... fitting. Yes, from now on, I would be Lucifer.


    Ryna¡¯s eyes lit up with wonder. "Wow! Mister has such a pretty name!"


    "Uhh, thank you," I replied, her earnest compliment catching me off guard.


    Her tail swished excitedly as she declared with a grin, "From now on, Ryna and Lucy are the bestest friends!"


    I blinked, stunned by her sudden proclamation. "Hold on... Lucy?"


    "Yesh! Lucy!" she chirped, her voice brimming with pride at her clever nickname.


    I sighed, a mix of exasperation and amusement bubbling within me. "It¡¯s Lucifer. Not Lucy."


    But she paid me no mind, her grin growing wider. "Lucy sounds cuter!"


    I shook my head, my lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. She was insistent, this little nekojin. Despite myself, I found her presence oddly comforting. After eons of solitude, perhaps even a name like "Lucy" could bring a strange sense of warmth.


    For the first time in an eternity, I allowed myself a small laugh. "Fine. Have it your way, Ryna."