Chapter 42: The Start Of Rebellion

How many centuries, how many millennia had passed since anyone dared to strike Fate itself? The thought echoed through the minds of every being in the multiverse as they bore witness to the impossible. Only during Doom's rebellion had anyone even thought to challenge such an Entity. Now, in this moment, the cosmos watched as a mere mortal—a mortal named Moros—punched Fate, and the laws of existence themselves seemed to waver.

The shock of it rippled outward, leaving the entire multiverse in stunned silence.

As the realization set in, a single word broke the stillness, a command that shattered the weight of disbelief: "Attack!"

Moros' voice rang out across the battlefield, and in that instant, the army of countless species surged forward in a unified, thunderous charge. Cheers and roars filled the air, flagbearers swung their banners high, and weapons gleamed in the rising sunlight. For the first time in forever, they were not mere subjects of Fate—they were agents of their own will.

But as the army charged, a new terror rose to meet them.

The Entity—the Dragon of Destruction—unfurled its immense wings, and the very ground trembled beneath its towering form. Its massive jaws opened wide, revealing a chasm of burning nothingness within. Reality itself warped as the beast drew in light, matter, and the very fabric of existence. Then, with a roar that could be heard across the multiverse, it unleashed a beam of pure entropy—a ray of destruction so intense that it seemed to twist the very laws of physics. Everything in its path crumbled, reduced to nothingness.

Sandro, with a wave of his hand, rallied his legion of Magicians. They raised their arms in perfect unison, their gestures fluid and synchronized. Ancient symbols flared to life in the air—glowing, radiant blue and white—and arcane power surged from their hands, flowing into Sandro's outstretched palms. He wove the energy into a massive dome of shimmering light, a barrier forged from hundreds of minds working in harmony.

But the beam of destruction slammed into the shield, and the world held its breath. The barrier buckled, strained against the weight of that pure annihilation, and then—shattered.

The battle was no longer just one of wills; it was a fight against the very fabric of existence.

As the energies surged and collided, the voice of the Dragon of Destruction—deep and primal—rumbled through the air: "Ra'sha vorh dra'khor zahrah, shal'thar draz'hath khar'dhal-than'zor khar'drath Vraal!"

The ancient language of destruction resonated like a curse, but the meaning was lost to the mortals, who stood in awe, paralyzed by the sheer weight of the moment.

Progression, stepping forward, spoke in a voice that cut through the tension. Its words, soothing and powerful, spread like a balm to the army's nerves. "They can't understand you. Let me use my powers."

Progression's form shimmered with a radiant, pearlescent light, its aura thick with resonance as it manipulated the fundamental forces of communication. The air rippled with sound waves that vibrated through the very laws of reality, translating the primal utterances of Destruction into a language mortals could grasp.

"We fight for a new future!" Progression's voice echoed, clarifying Destruction's words for all to hear.

But Destruction—furious, unstoppable—was already moving. Its massive claws closed around Progression with an earth-shaking crack. The beast's voice boomed like a collapsing mountain. "How dare you make us speak like these insects?"

With a flick of its gargantuan jaws, Destruction tore into Progression, a sickening crack filling the air as the head was ripped from the body. Progression's form collapsed, twitching briefly before going still.

In the aftermath, the shadow of Destruction loomed over the fallen figure. "You should know your place."

The air trembled with the pulse of life as the Life Entity manifested, its energy flooding the battlefield like a spring reborn. "You should be more gentle, Destruction! After all, it's still young!"

Life knelt beside Progression's shattered form, fingers glowing like stars as they poured healing energy into the severed flesh. Neural pathways reconnected, the head lifted back into place, and the body reformed—golden light shining through every seam.

"Don't lose it again," Life murmured, its voice full of warmth and the soft power of renewal.

"Th-thank you..." Progression whispered, still shaking.

Meanwhile, Fate—its perfect face twisted with fury—stood motionless, watching the unfolding chaos. Rage, fear, and disbelief bubbled within it, its blood-red eyes seething with unimaginable wrath. "How dare you touch me!" it screamed.

With a speed that defied the senses, Fate dashed toward Hanz, its movements a blur. But Moros was faster.

Without hesitation, he intercepted the Entity, the dark scythe crashing against Fate's hand with a resounding clang. "Don't you dare touch my friend!" Moros growled, his voice like a blade of its own, pushing Fate back with raw power.

In the back of his mind, Moros spoke to Doom, his words a surge of urgency. "Doom, we are already here! Stop being a coward!"

Doom recoiled as though struck, the force of Moros' voice tearing into his fractured mind. His thoughts splintered, panic surging through his veins, but Moros' mental strike was sharp, precise. Doom stumbled, falling to his knees under the weight of his doubt and fear, his body shaking. But in that darkness, something broke free.

Slowly, like a tide receding, Doom's mind began to stabilize. His breathing slowed, the overwhelming chaos quieting as clarity returned. With shaky hands, he pushed himself up, the flicker of resolve kindling in his eyes.

"You're right," Doom rasped, his voice thick with shame. "I've... been hiding from it all. I'm sorry."

A dark energy surged from Moros, and in an instant, the very air around him thickened with power. The black aura swelled, erupting in a vortex of shadows, each crackle of energy amplifying the tension in the atmosphere.

Time stretched. Everything paused.

Moros and Doom—two separate beings—began to merge, wills crashing together, intertwining in a burst of synchrony. Power, clarity, and purpose surged through them, a perfect union forged in darkness.

The storm of energy began to subside, leaving behind an eerie silence. The moment stretched on, impossibly still. And then, a single voice—a perfect blend of Doom's resonance and Moros' fury—echoed through the battlefield: "Fate, you won't survive this day. Your endless rule ends now."

The very sky seemed to darken, as if the world itself shuddered at the words.

With an almost imperceptible motion, Doom Master raised his scythe. Reality itself seemed to twist as the weapon's blade shimmered with dark, unearthly power. In one fluid arc, the scythe cleaved through the very fabric of existence.

For the first time in all of eternity, Fate—immortal and unyielding—recoiled. A jagged wound appeared across its form, seeping silver blood, dark and alive.

The universe seemed to still as if holding its breath. The silence was suffocating, unbearable.

And then, a single phrase broke the air:

"Hanz! Get away! Help the others! This is my battle."

Hanz, pride swelling in his chest, struck Doom Master's back with a single hand. "Don't lose!" he urged, his voice filled with the kind of raw determination that could shatter mountains. And with that, he disappeared into the fray, fighting alongside the others.

Fate, stunned by the wound, touched its chest, fingers trembling as they were stained with its own blood. "What is this? Why do I feel... pain?" it whispered, its voice thick with disbelief and fury. "How dare you make me bleed!"

And with that, from its palm, a beam of raw cosmic energy shot forth, a brilliant silver ray that shattered reality itself.

Moros responded, releasing his own beam of dark energy. The two forces clashed—black against silver, the collision of entropy and fate. The explosion that followed was a cataclysm, the shockwave spreading outwards to form a new pocket universe.

And still, the battle raged, unyielding, as Fate and Doom Master rushed toward each other once more.

"I am inevitable! I am eternal!" Fate roared, its elongated fingers slicing through the very air with deadly precision.

"No more," Doom Master laughed, his voice full of defiance. "The tapestry unravels today."

And as their blades met, stars exploded, galaxies swirled, and the very essence of existence trembled under the weight of their conflict.