CHAPTER 162: THE NEW THRONE

Zorwath stood tall on the blackened stone, cloaked in silence, as the wind howled with the cries of the dying.

His golden-carved robe shimmered under the burning sky, but his face... that face could have belonged to an angel — if not for the twisted glint of chaos in his eyes.

He raised one hand toward the wounded Krovekan city.

"Take her with us," he ordered coldly, gesturing at Qarina’s broken body lying in the rubble. "Even shattered weapons can still amuse me."

The general bowed and snapped his fingers. Two dark soldiers formed from smoke and bone appeared beside him, moving toward Qarina.

She groaned faintly, her body twitching. Her eyes burned with defiance, but her strength was slipping fast.

"You’ll regret this..." she whispered, but her voice was too soft, too weak.

Zorwath turned to her, tilting his head slightly.

"Oh? I hope so," he said with a smile that sent chills into the soul of the planet.

Then, he lifted his hand higher.

"But it wouldn’t be entertaining if your kind just fades away so quickly..."

Suddenly, a loud cracking sound erupted from the skies. The clouds turned pitch black. Thunder roared.

"So, I’ll give you something to remember me by..."

From Zorwath’s fingers, eight beams of corrupted light shot into the sky and curved down like lightning bolts. One struck the very core of the planet, disappearing into the ground with a boom that shook the mountains.

He chuckled.

"That seed..." he said, staring at the spot where it vanished.

"...will bloom into the Nest of Beasts."

A low rumble echoed from beneath the ground. The sky above the city turned greenish-black. Then...

Cracks split open across the land.

From every fracture, creatures began to crawl out — not born, but morphed from the land itself. Flesh fused with stone, bone grew from lava, wings tore out of the clouds. They were small and large, sleek and monstrous. Some walked on six legs. Others slithered. Some flew. Thousands.

The very ground screamed.

"Scatter," Zorwath commanded lazily.

And the beasts obeyed.

They ran. They soared. They shrieked.

Into villages. Into temples. Into forests. Into homes.

Terror had a new name: Zorwath’s Garden.

The general turned to him. "Do you wish to spare anyone else?"

Zorwath looked into the distance — at the mountains, at the hidden Krovekan temples, at those few warriors who still watched from the shadows.

"Let them hide."

"Let them run."

"The fear will ripen them better than death ever could."

He chuckled again and stepped into the portal.

As it closed, the planet began to tremble once more. A low pulse, as if something had awakened deep within its core.

Something alive.

Something hungry.

The king’s body slumped to the side of the throne room, blood soaking the black-and-gold tiles beneath him. His ornate crown rolled across the floor, clinking against the marble with finality.

Zorwath stepped over the corpse, his dark robe trailing flames. He sat on the burning throne with a smirk.

"I’m the new king of this planet. Learn to worship properly."

The remaining guards stood frozen, fear gripping their spines. None dared move. Parkh—his loyal general—stood beside him, eyes scanning the room for any fool who might object.

"Burn this palace," Zorwath ordered. "Keep the throne. Let them know their king bled on these stones and begged for nothing."

Parkh raised his arm, and shadows coiled from his palm like loyal snakes. They slithered across the walls and floors, igniting the palace in dark flames that didn’t just burn—it devoured.

Outside, the skies darkened. Beasts, mutated and violent, prowled across the lava-lit cities, dragging Krovekans from homes and tearing through streets. Cries of resistance were met with fangs and claws.

Zorwath rose from the throne again, dusting off the ash from his cloak as if the death of a monarch was a minor footnote.

"Let’s go," he said to Parkh. "I’m done with this kingdom. It will burn and rebuild itself in my name."

Just then, a loud crash echoed from the palace gates.

A massive hammer tore through the burning door like paper, sending molten debris flying. From the smoke emerged a warrior unlike any Zorwath had seen on this planet—a Krovekan, but taller, skin marked with glowing lava runes, wearing old battle armor from a forgotten age.

His eyes glowed like coals. His voice was a roar wrapped in thunder.

"You dare sit on our sacred throne?"

"You kill our king and mock our legacy?"

Zorwath tilted his head slightly. "You must be the former royal guardian."

"I am Tarak. King’s Shield. Flame’s First Blade.

**And you," he growled, slamming his hammer on the ground, cracking the marble, "are just a parasite."

Parkh stepped forward, but Zorwath raised a finger. "No. Let me enjoy this."

He stood, eyes gleaming. "Finally. Someone with spirit."

Tarak hurled himself forward, hammer blazing, and the throne room exploded into a storm of fire and force as the two powers collided.

Tarak’s body surged with fury as he let out a war cry that echoed across the battlefield. He raised his colossal obsidian hammer and slammed it into the ground with godlike might.

BOOOOM!

The earth cracked open beneath his feet. Lava exploded upwards like a volcanic geyser, scorching the skies. In a swift motion, Tarak spun and struck the erupting lava with his hammer. The molten rock solidified in the air—hardened projectiles now—before being launched at Zorwath like blazing cannonballs.

Zorwath barely blinked.

With a lazy flick of his wrist, the projectiles disintegrated midair, turning into fine dust that shimmered briefly before vanishing into the wind.

"You’ll need more than stones to hurt me," Zorwath mocked, his crimson eyes glowing brighter.

But Tarak wasn’t done.

He threw his hammer high into the air, a blur of black steel spinning like a falling star. In the same moment, he lunged forward and slammed his fist into Zorwath’s chest, the impact echoing like thunder.

Zorwath didn’t move.

Tarak snarled, grabbing Zorwath by the collar with both hands and straining to lift and toss him. Veins bulged. Muscles rippled. The ground cracked beneath their feet.

But Zorwath remained unmoved—like a mountain.

Zorwath’s hand shot forward to grab him—

—but Tarak leapt back with perfect timing, twisting mid-air to catch his hammer, now descending like divine judgment from the sky.

With a roar, he slammed the hammer down again.

CLAAAAANG!

Zorwath raised his arm and caught the strike with one hand. The force made him skid backward across the ground, his boots carving deep trenches in the earth.

A low chuckle escaped Zorwath’s lips. "Interesting," he said. "You made me move. That’s rare."

He gripped the hammer and, with a terrifying surge of dark energy, crushed it in his hand.

CRACK!

The weapon shattered into glowing fragments, scattering like dying embers.

Tarak’s eyes widened in disbelief. "I-It’s... impossible. That hammer was forged in the Heartforge Flame! No mortal could ever—"

Zorwath’s expression darkened.

"Who told you... I’m a mortal?"

He raised a single finger and slid it upward.

A rift opened in reality behind Tarak—a massive, grotesque abyssal mouth, filled with shadowy teeth and glowing red mist. Before Tarak could react, it lunged.

CHOMP!

The upper half of Tarak’s body vanished inside the monstrous maw, torn clean off. His legs collapsed to the ground, twitching. Orange-glowing blood poured like molten fire, burning the earth beneath.

But Zorwath wasn’t finished.

He waved his hand, and Tarak’s severed upper body reappeared midair, suspended by dark chains.

Tarak—barely conscious—opened one eye.

"You... bastard..."

Zorwath’s voice thundered like a god.

"Even your soul... is mine to crush."

He clenched his fist.

The chains wrapped tighter around Tarak, and his body was compressed into a blazing orb, then crushed into nothingness—leaving behind only flickers of orange ash.

Silence fell across the battlefield.

The earth trembled beneath Zorwath’s feet. He looked toward the heavens and raised both arms.

"One god down," he said, grinning. "Who’s next?"

But just as the mouth behind Tarak snapped shut, Zorwath’s eyes narrowed.

"Hmm... something’s off."

Orange glowing blood oozed across the battlefield, hissing as it touched the blackened stone. But instead of silence... the ground trembled.

Zorwath turned his head slightly, almost amused.

"You’re still alive?"

Suddenly, the orange blood began to glow brighter, pulsating like a heartbeat. The severed lower half of Tarak twitched. Then—BOOM!—a massive eruption of molten energy shot upward, and from the flames, Tarak’s upper body regenerated, now covered in magma-like armor, with blazing veins of energy coursing through him.

"You think that was enough to kill me?" Tarak growled, his voice now deeper, almost demonic.

"You forced me to use my true form... Flame Titan Tarak."

The sky cracked open as heat surged from his body, and the air shimmered. His new weapon—a lava-forged axe with a molten core—formed in his hand.

Zorwath chuckled.

"Now this... this is entertaining."

Tarak charged with terrifying speed, swinging the axe made from lava in an arc wide enough to slice mountains. Zorwath ducked, narrowly avoiding the blow, but flames erupted from the blade’s trail, wrapping around him like chains.

BOOM! A direct hit. Zorwath was sent flying, crashing through multiple mountains behind him. The ground shook for miles.

Tarak roared, "I’ll burn the concept of you from existence!"

Zorwath rose from the crater, his body steaming but untouched. His shirt was torn, revealing a dark sigil etched across his chest—glowing faintly purple.

"Interesting indeed..." he muttered.

He raised his hand—and the sky darkened instantly.

Suddenly, a ring of dark floating sigils appeared in the air behind him. They spun rapidly, creating a vortex of shadow and void magic.

Zorwath whispered, "Voidbound Chain Art: Devouring Eclipse."

A thousand black chains surged out of the sigils like serpents, all targeting Tarak at once. Tarak roared, swinging wildly, melting dozens—but more kept coming.

The battlefield turned into chaos.

Fire and void collided. Each strike shook the heavens. Flames scorched the earth, void devoured the air.

But slowly... Zorwath began to walk forward.

Step by step, without dodging, without blinking, he advanced through Tarak’s attacks. Chains covered his arms now, his eyes glowing with divine hatred.

Tarak hesitated. For the first time... he felt fear.

Zorwath appeared in front of him in a flash, placing his palm on Tarak’s chest.

"Let me show you why mortals fear the void."

He whispered something in a forgotten language—and then Tarak’s armor cracked, his flame dimmed.

A beam of pure nothingness shot through him—straight through the core of his soul.

Tarak staggered.

He looked at his axe... dropped it...

And crumbled to his knees.

"Impossible..." he whispered, before collapsing, his fire extinguished forever.

Meanwhile...

Far away, beneath the surface of the planet, deep inside a sealed cavern, a group of cloaked figures surrounded a glowing orb.

One of them raised his head and muttered,

"He has arrived... Zorwath has taken the Flame Throne."

Another, older voice whispered,

"Then we must awaken her. The prophecy begins now. The one born of ember and wrath must rise..."

From within the orb, a faint heartbeat echoed.