War

The void had never known resistance. It had swallowed countless beings, crushed endless souls, devoured the wills of gods and mortals alike. But now, it encountered something different—something it could neither consume nor comprehend.

Shree Yan.

He stood unmoved as the abyss howled in defiance. The force that had shattered civilizations and erased empires crashed against him like a storm of infinite destruction—yet it did nothing. It did not scratch his skin, did not bend his will, did not shake his footing.

The abyss recoiled.

For the first time in eternity, it hesitated.

"You defy the unshaped void?" the voice whispered, a tremor in its once-boundless confidence.

Shree Yan's crimson eyes burned through the darkness. "I do not defy. I command."

With those words, the void tore apart.

Reality itself split, as if rejecting his very existence. Time fractured, space crumbled, and all known laws of existence unraveled into raw chaos.

Yet, Shree Yan walked forward.

The throne loomed ahead, its presence growing stronger, resisting him with its final breath. He could feel it now—the echoes of every being that had attempted to claim it before him. The fallen seekers. The forgotten conquerors. The dead gods.

They had all failed.

But he was not them.

He raised his hand.

The abyss screamed, its final act of desperation. A being emerged—an entity formed from the will of everything that had ever perished in pursuit of the throne.

A figure stepped forward, forged from the essence of the void itself. A hollow king, crowned with dying stars, cloaked in the memories of the forgotten.

"You cannot ascend," it declared, its voice filled with the echoes of an infinite past. "You are nothing."

Shree Yan smirked. "Then watch as nothing becomes everything."

The war began.

A battle unseen, beyond time and existence itself.

The hollow king struck first, wielding the weight of eternity. Space itself collapsed under its attack, spiraling into nothingness.

But Shree Yan did not move.

His mere presence negated the attack, bending reality to his will.

The void-being roared, conjuring endless storms of destruction, wielding the agony of a thousand lost realms. But each attack, each manifestation of absolute ruin, shattered against the overwhelming force of Shree Yan's existence.

He had already won.

The hollow king realized this too late.

Shree Yan reached forward—not with his hand, but with his will.

The void trembled. The entity screamed.

Then, it was gone.

Erased. Consumed. Reduced to nothing, as if it had never existed.

And then, at last, the throne fell silent.

There was no resistance left. No force remaining to oppose him.

The Throne of the Unbound had found its ruler.

Shree Yan sat.

And in that moment, the fabric of reality changed.

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