Chapter 0: Ashes of the Phoenix
The skies above Nadir hung heavy with the scent of sulfur and blood. Ash rained down like dark snow, dancing upon broken banners and shattered bones. At the horizon, the army of the Vis’kethi advanced with grim purpose. Their armor bore cracks from old battles, their faces etched with desperation and resolve.
They were not soldiers.
They were survivors.
Each step toward the Gates of the Phoenix was a prayer spoken through clenched jaws. They marched for Defiance, the last bastion of freedom. For their fallen homes, their drowned gods, their broken children. And above all—for the chance to end the eternal reign of the undying fire.
Before them, towering like a monument to forgotten ages, the gate stood wreathed in embers. Black as voidglass, veins of obsidian twisted through it like scars. And at its heart blazed the golden insignia of the Phoenix, shining like the only sun left in a world that had long since been swallowed by night.
Then, the gates groaned. Slowly. Unnaturally. They opened not from force—but from invitation.
A single figure stood alone beyond the threshold.
No army. No banners.
Only him.
He looked young, absurdly so. Barely a man by mortal standards. But his presence—his aura—spoke of eons. His hair, once a natural red, now glowed like a flame untamed, licking upward in defiance of gravity. His armor, polished and golden, shimmered like dying embers, as if trying to remember the warmth of the sun.
And in his right hand, he held an axe, black and crimson, veins of red lightning dancing across its surface like a storm caged in steel.
He was the Phoenix.
He was Abel—the Aspect of Rebirth.
But the look in his eyes was not of glory or defiance.
It was of weariness.
Of quiet resignation.
Of a man who had died a thousand times and still woke up screaming.
“Another army... another day...” he thought, as the wind rustled through the silence. “How many more will try this path? How long must I keep burning? Leopold... Erik... what the hell went wrong?”
A silence hung in the air, like the moment before the final breath.
Then came the war cry.
“FOR DEFIANCE!”
The Vis’kethi surged forward with a roar that split the skies.
Still, Abel stood unmoved. His eyes closed.
He waited.
Waited for them to come close.
Closer.
Close enough.
Then he opened his eyes—and the world ignited.
A crown of flame erupted around his head, his entire being consumed in living fire. The heat was instant, absolute. The front line of the army didn’t even scream—they melted, armor and flesh alike reduced to slurry in a heartbeat. Their bones turned to ash mid-stride. Metal liquefied and sizzled into black pools.
Then came the torrent.
A wave of inferno, wide as the battlefield, roared forth from Abel’s outstretched palm. A tsunami of fire, devouring men and metal alike. In seconds, the army was reduced to shadows and cinders, weapons turned to twisted, molten sculptures.
And still—they charged.
Fools.
Brave, broken fools.
Abel sighed. His flames shifted. Compressed. Focused.
He stepped forward—and became a whirlwind of fire and death.
With every swing of his axe, soldiers were split in half. The fire danced in his wake, melting even the brave who dared come close. He tore through them like a god of the old world, a wrathful sun walking on earth, leaving only ruin behind.
High above, perched on a craggy ridge, a figure watched.
Clad in shadow, face hidden by a hood, he slowly loaded a round into a long, black sniper rifle. Ten rings adorned his hand—each etched with different runes, languages from long-dead worlds.
He watched Abel carve through the army like a living guillotine, and he smiled.
“I love to see you work...” he murmured, peering through the scope. “Come on, Abel. Just a little closer...”
When the last soldier fell, Abel stood surrounded by charred earth and silence. His golden armor was scorched in places, and embers drifted lazily from his hair.
His breathing slowed. He stared at the desolation, not with pride, not with regret—just fatigue.
“Another day...” he murmured. “Another pointless slaughter.”
He turned back toward the gate, his flames dimming as he walked toward the only place left that resembled home. A place not of comfort, but of imprisonment.
The castle loomed behind the gate. It looked like it had been carved from obsidian and memory. Each step felt heavier than the last.
Then—
Crack.
A thunderous snap echoed through the air.
Pain.
White-hot pain bloomed in his side. Abel’s eyes widened.
He staggered.
Blood spilled—real blood.
His fire flared instinctively, but the wound did not cauterize.
The bullet hadn’t melted.
It had pierced his divine fire.
“No...” Abel whispered. “That’s... not possible...”
A dagger struck the ground near him—black, barbed, humming with energy. And from its shadow, the figure appeared, stepping into the world like a nightmare given form.
He still held the rifle in one hand. In the other, a silver pistol shimmered with strange light.
“Well shit,” the man laughed, “didn’t think that would actually work. I’m better than I thought.”
Abel gritted his teeth, clutching the wound. “Who the fuck are you...?”
“Foul, foul! Such vulgarity! That’s no way to greet an old friend.”
“I don’t know you.”
The figure crouched beside him, a crooked grin stretching across his face.
“Oh Abel... come now. You don’t remember? We’ve known each other so long. I’ve watched you grow, stumble, rise again. I know you... all the way from way back then.”
“...What are you talking about?”
“I love your story,” the man whispered, eyes wide with manic delight. “You, running from your past, scarred by the flames you inherited. Seeking salvation with the Seekers. Oh! And the River of Sins—meeting your mother and brother—tragic. When you devoured your father to become the Phoenix? Poetic!”
Abel’s heart thudded. “...How do you know that?”
“I know everything about you. Every tear. Every rage. Every choice. I know your favorite food. I know the weight you carry. I know your fears. Your sacrifices.”
“...Who are you...?”
The figure leaned close.
“I’m God, bitch. I’m the fucking god of this world.”
Abel froze. “No. We killed the gods. All of them.”
“Oh, you did,” he sang. “Divine Purge, Version Two! A bloody masterpiece! But...”
He leaned in, voice dropping.
“You missed one.”
“...We didn’t miss anyone.”
“Oh, you did. The most important one. The one hiding in plain sight. Blinded by loyalty. Blinded by faith. Blinded by ambition.”
Abel’s breath caught. His mind raced. He looked into the man’s eyes—and recognition struck like lightning.
“No way... you’re—”
“That’s right, Phoenix,” the man whispered.
“And sadly, that bullet’s almost done cooking. You’ve always been hard to kill. But just this once...”
He raised the silver pistol.
“Time to put the Phoenix to bed.”
“No... wait—”
BANG.
A flash of silver. Then silence.
The Phoenix fell.
And the fire went out.
