Chapter 82 : "The Awakening of Destruction."

The sun was lazily rising above the small village nestled in the valley. The thatched roofs gleamed with a golden glow, and the birds, in their morning carefreeness, began their timid song.

In the backyard of their humble home, Niyus was already at work. Sleeves rolled up, gloved hands, he carefully chopped wood, each movement precise, measured, paced by the steady tchak of the blade against the bark.

Rivhiamë, still in her nightgown, holding a steaming cup of tea, joined him, her eyes half-closed from sleep.

Rivhiamë:

"Given your power... you still chop wood so... normally and humanly? When you could just imagine the wood being cut, and it would be."

Niyus (without stopping):

"True. But I prefer to do things normally. Like before. Wearing gloves... using an axe."

A silence settled for a moment, like a respectful whisper between two beings who don't need words to understand each other.

Rivhiamë watched the scene. There was something soothing in the way Niyus wielded the axe. Almost... nostalgic.

Rivhiamë:

"Do you want so much to become a normal human again?"

The axe stopped mid-swing. Niyus froze, his gaze lost somewhere between the logs, memories, and the horizon.

He resumed chopping calmly, then replied:

Niyus:

"I don't really know. But for now... I'd like to live a little like a normal human, before going back to the mythical habits of a deviant that I've developed. It's like a kind of pause, you see?"

Rivhiamë smiled softly. A gentle, compassionate, slightly sad smile.

Rivhiamë:

"I understand. And honestly, given what you've been through... it's even admirable to want to take a break. It can only do you good."

She put down her cup, rolled up her sleeves as well.

Rivhiamë:

"Can I help you?"

Niyus (with a slight smile):

"Sure. Here."

He handed her a smaller axe. She grabbed it determinedly... but on the first strike, she nearly fell backward, the axe bouncing off the log without cutting the wood. Niyus burst out laughing, a frank, almost childlike laugh.

Rivhiamë, red with embarrassment, gave him a glare which she couldn't hold for more than two seconds before laughing herself.

Niyus:

"Wait, I'll show you. Stand like this... hold firmly here... and breathe gently before striking."

She followed the advice, and this time, the wood snapped with a satisfying crack. She looked up, radiant, proud of her success. Niyus nodded, satisfied.

A little later, on the terrace, a light breeze blew between flower pots. The two friends sat around a wooden table. Rivhiamë nibbled on dried fruits, while Niyus sipped on overly strong tea.

Rivhiamë (teasing):

"You know, given your age how old now? Thirteen hundred years? you'd think you'd be married ten times over. But no. Still single. Got a rational explanation for that, or are you just bad at love?"

Niyus (embarrassed, clearing his throat):

"I... well... let's say I had other priorities."

Rivhiamë (bursting out laughing):

"Ahaha! You realize you just said that like an old temple monk?!"

Niyus (mumbling):

"Technically, I was a monk for about fifty years..."

Rivhiamë (laughing even harder):

"And that's supposed to help your defense?!"

She laughed breathlessly, head thrown back like a sweet madwoman no longer afraid of the world.

But then...

A dull noise was heard. As if something had just cracked above reality.

The wind suddenly intensified, slamming shutters, lifting dust and dead leaves. The sky, so blue moments ago, abruptly turned leaden gray, streaked with black cracks like gaping wounds in the fabric of the world.

A wave of terror, almost tangible, spread through the village. The children stopped laughing, the elders lifted their heads with eyes empty of faith.

Then the ground trembled. No, the very air shuddered.

Above the hill, a gigantic rift tore open in the sky, releasing a black, iridescent light that cast no shadow. A roar without a mouth or tongue shook the eardrums of all living things.

Screams. Running. Tears.

Panic spread like wildfire. Villagers fled in all directions, overturning carts, baskets, and prayers. The world distorted, buildings seemed to collapse inward as if sucked in.

On the terrace, Rivhiamë was frozen. Niyus slowly stood up.

Niyus (whispering):

"...What is this creature?"

And the moment of peace, patiently built, shattered in a heartbeat.

The sky twisted.

A whistle, at first faint, pierced the air like a thin needle sliding under the skin of the universe.

Then... a hand.

Enormous. Disproportionate. Detached from all logic. It was neither flesh nor shadow, neither tangible nor spectral. It simply was. An open palm, bristling with black veins pulsing a sickly glow, burst from the rift in the sky and tore apart the fabric of space like an old sheet.

The clouds fled. The sun itself seemed to recoil in horror.

A fissure opened.

Not a simple crack: an anarchic tear, dripping with darkness, as if the universe was vomiting something it wished to forget.

And that thing... emerged.

It looked vaguely human. A slender silhouette, wearing a black coat that seemed to absorb light. Its skin was ash-gray, its eyes—or rather the absence of eyes—two calm, dull, expressionless sockets. Empty of anger. Empty of purpose. Empty of life.

It neither floated nor walked. It simply existed, there, motionless, and that mere presence was an absolute dissonance.

The space behind it closed as if nothing had ever happened.

It slowly turned its head. Its gaze fell upon Niyus.

Niyus stared back. Upright. Motionless. A tension rumbled between them. A suspended, unreal calm, charged with latent electricity.

Rivhiamë, seated, did not move. She felt her heart pounding like a drum in her chest. Something was wrong. Something was about to break.

Then the creature extended its hand.

A spear. A black spear, warped, sculpted from darkness itself, oozed from the ether. Its edges vibrated, exuding silent malice.

It was thrown.

The world did not react immediately. But Niyus moved.

In an instant, he positioned himself in front of Rivhiamë. His arms spread. A golden barrier rose—pure light, sacred brilliance, living runes swirling around him.

The spear struck.

A shock. A silent scream. Space contracted around the impact point.

The ground trembled. Cracks formed beneath their feet. Flashes erupted, sometimes blinding light, sometimes a darkness deeper than night. The wind turned into a cyclone.

Rivhiamë, thrown backward by the shockwave, fell seated, panting, unable to comprehend. She looked up, her gaze catching Niyus's silhouette, still standing, still fighting against the cursed spear.

Niyus (gritting his teeth): "Damn... what is this spear!!?"

The barrier vibrated. Weakened.

He understood immediately: this projectile was not a simple spell. It was a sentence. An eraser of existence.

He closed his eyes, thought fast, very fast.

Niyus (internally): "If I can't send it back... better to deflect it!"

He gathered his magic. A colossal flow of light and shadow intertwined around his arms. He invoked the ancient art of the Arc Mages—the spectral deflection—a lost, unstable technique that altered the trajectory of a force without canceling it.

He let out a cry. Twisting his arms, he deflected the spear toward the sky.

It flew like lightning.

A second later, it struck the clouds.

And the sky... exploded.

A burst of chaotic energy set the heavens ablaze. A cosmic howl tore the atmosphere. Space itself seemed to bleed. Fragments of void fell like ashes of dead stars.

And at the center...

A hole.

A gaping spatial abyss, black and insatiable, began slowly swallowing reality. The trees. The rocks. The air. The sound. Even time seemed to hesitate.

Rivhiamë, eyes wide with terror, saw the edges of the world flicker.

Rivhiamë (whispering): "What... is that...?"

Niyus, beside her, did not look away from the creature.

He knew.

It was not an attack.

It was a test.

And it was only the beginning.

Niyus looked at the creature nervously. His brows furrowed with anger. He extended his hand, materializing a luminous energy that he projected toward the hole caused by the spear. The energy shone intensely before closing the opening, canceling the destructive effect.

He then turned toward the silhouette responsible for the attack and shouted:

— Who are you? What do you want? What are you looking for? Are you completely insane?!

No answer. The creature, face hidden under a dark hood, slowly descended, placing its feet on the ground. It wore black boots, matching black leather pants.

Niyus, furious, insisted:

— Are you deaf?! I'm talking to you, idiot!

Finally, the creature spoke in a calm, almost absent voice.

— When the end of all things judges that creation itself must be destroyed, creation will have no choice but to comply.

Niyus and Rivhiamë stood frozen, stunned by the reply.

— What is he saying?... murmured Niyus.

The creature slowly lifted its hands to its hood, slid it back, revealing its face. Gray skin. Violet eyes. Long black hair falling over its shoulders. Under its eyes, black marks like tears accentuated the grim aura it exuded. Its gaze was void of emotion.

Niyus frowned.

— Are you a demon, by any chance?

The voice resonated again.

— My name is Zramë. I am the God of Destruction.

— The God of Destruction? repeated Niyus, shocked. What is such a god doing here?

— Good question. I never move without reason. If I am here... it is because you, Niyus, must be destroyed.

Silence fell. Niyus and Rivhiamë's eyes widened. A cold, intangible threat seemed to envelop them.

Zramë snapped his fingers.

— All resistance is useless. Give in, and it will be quick.

A strange change swept over Niyus. He felt himself slipping. His mind, his being, simultaneously visualized all his pasts, futures, presents. But something was missing. He had lost a part of himself. A part that existed in all timelines.

He understood with horror that Zramë had just erased all his alternate versions. Every projection, every temporal duplication, every extension of his existence... destroyed in a snap.

The shock was unbearable. Niyus fell to his knees, emptied, as if all hope had just vanished.

Rivhiamë stood up, worried, quickly approached, and knelt beside him.

— Niyus, are you okay?

He did not answer.

— Niyus? Niyus! she repeated again and again, her voice trembling, tears in her eyes.

But Niyus remained frozen. Lost in thought:

(How is this possible? So fast? What is really happening? What the hell is this? Am I dreaming? Will I wake up? Please, tell me it's a nightmare…)

Rivhiamë, increasingly desperate, kept shaking him, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Zramë slowly extended his hand toward Niyus.

— Destruction knows no territorial limits. It attacks and destroys everything... even the void itself.

Then Rivhiamë stood between Zramë and Niyus, spreading her arms, making her body a barrier.

— I won't let you hurt him! she said in a trembling voice, her whole body quivering like a leaf.

Zramë stared at her, emotionless.

— Pathetic.

He raised his hand. A pure, absolute dark attack formed and was launched toward them. Rivhiamë, seeing the energy approach, resigned herself. She closed her eyes, ready to take the blow. To die.