CHAPTER 164: THE FALL OF KRONYX

The word whispered like the chill before death.

Zorwath’s palm touched Agwana’s back—just for a second.

Just a second.

But her flames screamed.

The divine fire that wove through her very soul flickered violently, like a candle drowning in void. A searing cold spread through her spine, her skin paling, her heartbeat stuttering.

Agwana twisted away mid-air, roaring as her body ignited in a desperate backlash of molten fury. She spun, slashing a wave of flame-blades at Zorwath, but he was already gone.

Behind her, the sky burned.

Below her, Kronyx cracked.

Volcanoes that hadn’t stirred in centuries erupted. The ocean boiled, rivers reversed their course, and the winds screamed in all directions.

Zorwath hovered above it all. Watching. Calm.

He flexed his hand, studying the flicker of Anti-Flame still dancing on his fingertips. It was a cursed fire—not made to burn, but to erase.

Agwana steadied herself, breathing hard. Part of her left arm was scorched—not by heat, but by absence. Her flames refused to grow there.

She clenched her jaw.

"I see now... why the universe fears you."

Zorwath’s reply was simple.

"They remember me."

The sky howled.

Then—Agwana roared and launched forward, her body wrapped in a spiral of pure corefire. Her flame was no longer red or gold—but white. The color of a star’s death.

She struck with everything.

Her fist collided with Zorwath’s barrier, shattering it. Her knee drove into his ribs, bending the shadows around him. She summoned her spear again—twice the size, twice the pain—and drove it down toward his chest.

BOOOOOM!

Zorwath was driven down like a comet, smashing into the core canyons of Kronyx. The impact split the horizon. Chunks of land floated into the atmosphere.

For a moment—a moment—silence reigned.

Agwana landed, panting, her flame-hair whipping behind her in the chaos-wind.

But then—

A slow, steady clap echoed.

Dust cleared.

Zorwath rose from the crater, armor cracked, lip bleeding... and smiling wider than ever.

"Yes..." he growled, voice dripping with dark joy.

"Yes! That’s it. That’s what I want."

Agwana stepped back slightly, unease creeping into her heart. Not fear—but doubt.

She had struck him with everything. And still...

He laughed.

Zorwath lifted his hand toward the sky. The clouds above twisted into a spiral—not black, but violet, like the dying embers of a dead star.

A rift opened—just a crack—but from it, something ancient looked through.

Every living being on Kronyx felt it. Even those who weren’t watching. Even those underground.

Children cried without knowing why.

Elders fell silent.

And the high priests of fire, deep in the Flame Sanctum, collapsed—blood dripping from their ears.

Above, Agwana stared at the crack in reality.

And for the first time, she whispered...

"What have I awakened?"

From the crack in the sky...

A hand emerged.

Massive. Monstrous. Coated in pitch-black fur.

It moved slowly—not out of laziness, but certainty.

Every flex of its fingers warped the air. The weight of its presence alone dug a crater beneath it, splitting the crust of Kronyx. Mountains crumbled like sandcastles.

Zorwath raised his hand calmly—and the beast’s arm followed. As if his will commanded its muscles.

Agwana looked up.

For all her fire, all her fury, all her divine birthright...

Hope died.

Not because she lacked strength.

But because what stood above them—what loomed through the crack—wasn’t meant to exist in this universe.

Even the emotionless beings of ancient eras would tremble before this.

Yet now, for the first time, the emotionless felt one thing:

Fear.

The hand came down.

With a single strike—

Agwana was smashed into the earth.

The continent ruptured beneath her.

Flame gods across the galaxies felt her aura vanish.

Her once-eternal body crumbled, disintegrating into embers.

But she wasn’t alone in her end.

The collision shook Kronyx to its core.

A chunk of the planet—miles wide—floated into orbit, severed. Oceans boiled away, the atmosphere thinned, and the crust of Kronyx twisted into a death spiral.

Zorwath stood calmly amidst the devastation, brushing dust from his armor. His eyes scanned the broken horizon.

"Hmm..." he murmured.

"I’m not sensing any life force left. Did I overdo it?"

A silhouette stepped through the smoke—his loyal general, Parkh, kneeling with one hand on his chest.

"My lord," Parkh said, voice hollow.

"Every living being on this planet... is dead. The pressure from your creation alone shattered all resistance."

He paused. "Only the lady warrior I personally defeated survived. Barely."

Zorwath let out a breath. Not tired—disappointed.

"Well..." he muttered, turning toward the torn sky.

"I got a good fight. At least that won’t go to waste."

He glanced around at the burning ruins, once a thriving world of warriors.

"It would’ve been... interesting to experiment on this species. Such sturdy bodies. But... no use regretting."

With a flick of his fingers, he sliced the air open—a portal forming before him, glowing with swirling black energy.

He stepped through without another glance.

Parkh followed silently.

As the rift sealed behind them, the crack in the sky—the one from which the monstrous hand had emerged—slowly closed.

And with it, the last remnant of Kronyx’s fate was sealed.

A planet that once roared with fire...

Now floated in silence.

Empty. Broken.

Another victim of Zorwath’s rise.

The portal tore through space-time, and Zorwath stepped into Earth’s orbit—landing atop an abandoned temple deep in the Himalayas.

The air here was thin. Cold. Silent.

But he wasn’t alone.

A presence awaited him. Someone he hadn’t summoned—yet someone who always knew when to appear.

From the mist, a cloaked figure emerged. His robes flowed like shadows, his eyes burning with a quiet storm.

Vyuk.

An old friend?

An ancient rival?

Even Zorwath wasn’t sure anymore.

Vyuk stepped forward, calm yet commanding.

"You came sooner than expected," he said, his voice like wind echoing through a canyon.

Zorwath didn’t look at him. His gaze was locked on the stars.

"We’ll move to the next planet soon," Zorwath said flatly. "No delays."

Vyuk raised an eyebrow beneath his hood. "What happened to the first one...?"

Zorwath’s eyes narrowed.

"Nothing."

A long pause. The silence grew heavy.

Then Vyuk’s voice pierced it.

"Don’t lie to me, Zor."

"I sensed it. The weight of it. You’ve crossed a line you can’t walk back from."

Zorwath’s jaw clenched. His aura pulsed for a brief second—like a thunderclap muffled by the sky.

Vyuk stepped closer. "You’ve become something else. A killer, Zor. A heartless killer."

The wind stilled.

Zorwath finally turned his head slightly, just enough for Vyuk to see the distant coldness in his eyes.

"I am what I was always meant to be."

He turned away and walked toward the edge of the mountain, portal energy swirling around his fingertips again.

"No more wasting time."

With that, he vanished into the wind.

Vyuk remained there, the breeze stirring his cloak.

He looked up at the sky where stars once guided hope... and now whispered warning.

His hands trembled—but not with fear.

With the weight of a choice yet to be made.

Back to present...

The wind howled gently across the area of exit of eternal dungeon, as Aamir stood before Vyuk, eyes wide with the weight of everything he’d just heard.

Vyuk’s voice was no longer heavy with mystery.

It was tired. Ancient. Final.

He looked into Aamir’s eyes, his tone grave.

"This was the end, Aamir."

Aamir’s fists clenched unconsciously.

Vyuk stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder, not to comfort him—but to ground him.

"As he grew stronger, he became... less and less human."

"Zorwath’s soul was once like yours—burning with purpose. But power unchallenged rots the soul. He became something else... something the world had no name for."

The sky darkened slightly, as if the universe itself remembered what had once happened.

Vyuk looked up. "This world has... watchers. Not gods, but Guardians—deities chosen by the fabric of existence to observe, not interfere. Only when the balance collapses do they take action."

Aamir whispered, "And they tried... to stop him?"

Vyuk nodded. "They tried. Each of them fell. One by one. Torn apart. Devoured. Twisted into his tools."

"And when even the Guardians failed..."

He paused.

"...The Great Primal Five descended."

Aamir’s eyes widened. Everyone had heard of them. The beings who created the cosmos, whose names were whispers in holy texts, etched into forgotten stone.

"Only two of them came," Vyuk said. "Only two were allowed to descend from the Celestial Veil. And even they... struggled."

He stepped back, his voice now shaking slightly—not from fear, but memory.

"He almost pushed them back, Aamir.

He fought them like he was born their equal."

The silence after that sentence felt heavier than thunder.

Vyuk closed his eyes. "But together, with a forbidden binding mantra that even the gods swore never to use again... they sealed Zorwath."

He looked down. "They chained him beneath the crust of Earth. A prison woven with the souls of the fallen, guarded by silence and time."

Aamir’s lips parted slightly. "But now..."

Vyuk nodded. "Now he’s outside again. Free. Not fully—but enough to rise. And if he returns to full power before you’re ready..."

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Instead, he turned away, his cloak whipping in the cold Himalayan wind.

Then he said softly, almost like a whisper carried by the mountain breeze:

"Go, Aamir. It’s time for you to return."

"Return to the battlefield. Return to your destiny. The world won’t get another savior."