chapter 32: Life

The morning air was crisp, the sky a pale shade of blue streaked with the soft glow of dawn. Sylas and Livia walked side by side along the narrow footpath, the rhythmic crunch of their footsteps against the gravel filling the silence between them. The trees that lined the path swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves whispering secrets neither of them cared to hear.

Sylas, as expected, was serious. His brows furrowed, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his posture rigid with thought. "We wasted too much time yesterday," he muttered. "If we're going to get stronger, we need to commit. We can't afford hesitation."

Livia shot him a glance, unimpressed. "I don't recall hesitating."

"You know what I mean." He exhaled sharply, as if annoyed at having to clarify. "We don't know what's coming, but we do know we aren't ready for it. We need to sharpen our skills. Train harder. Plan better."

Livia hummed thoughtfully, her gaze fixed ahead as they walked. "And if strength alone isn't enough?"

Sylas frowned. "It is."

She smirked slightly at his unwavering confidence. "You really believe that?"

"Yes." He didn't hesitate. "Power decides everything. If we're strong enough, we win. If we're weak, we die. That's how it's always been."

Livia was quiet for a moment, her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat. She could argue with him—point out that brute force had its limits, that strength wasn't the only deciding factor in a fight, in fate—but she didn't. Sylas wouldn't listen. Not yet, at least.

Instead, she said, "Then let's assume you're right. Let's say strength is the answer. How do you plan to gain it? What's your next move?"

Sylas glanced at her, then ahead again. "I have a few ideas."

"That's vague."

"I don't like wasting words."

Livia rolled her eyes. "No, you just don't like thinking beyond the battlefield."

Sylas didn't respond immediately, but his expression darkened slightly. "I think about what's necessary."

"Necessary for what?"

He hesitated for just a fraction of a second—just enough for Livia to notice. "Survival."

Livia nodded slowly, her gaze dropping slightly to the path beneath her feet. "Survival…" she echoed.

A breeze swept past them, rustling the trees.

For a brief moment, neither of them spoke. But the silence wasn't empty. It was filled with all the things they weren't saying.

I needed a plan. A plan to become stronger.

After the massacre of demons—and the way the Demon King covered it up for me—I found myself plagued with questions. Why? Why would my enemy protect me? Was it manipulation? An attempt to gain leverage? Or was there something deeper at play, something I wasn't seeing yet?

My knowledge was vast, but even I couldn't find a concrete answer without evidence. And right now, I had none.

Perhaps Uhtem knew something. He seemed knowledgeable, far more than he let on. But I had no idea where he was. When I entered the Fourth Trial, I lost track of everything, even time itself. Maybe Crown knew, but Crown was… unpredictable.

Crown had shapeshifted into a simple pen, allowing me to keep him hidden from prying eyes—excluding Livia, of course. She knew. She always knew. Crown was helpful, but frustrating. He only activated when I was in danger, and right now, I wasn't.

I clenched my fist.

The Seven Treasures… I wouldn't get my hands on them. Not yet. I didn't know where to find them, nor did I have the power to claim them all. But I did have one.

Crown of the Fallen.

The first treasure. A relic of ancient horror and divine might.

According to legend, the Crown of the Fallen granted dominion over life and death. The power to raise the dead, to command them, to bend their very existence to the will of the wearer. A true king's power—not one over the living, but over the eternal.

It was said to manipulate souls, weaving them like threads in a tapestry, forcing them into submission or releasing them into oblivion. It could distort the flow of time in small, imperceptible ways—rewinding moments, prolonging an instant, delaying the inevitable.

Entire armies had fallen to those who wielded it. Entire civilizations had been brought to ruin beneath its influence. There was a tale of a king who once wore the Crown, ruling over a kingdom where none ever truly died. His soldiers were unkillable, his enemies doomed to become his servants in undeath.

A terrifying concept.

A tempting power.

I exhaled, forcing the thoughts away. I had it, but I hadn't unlocked its full potential yet. Crown still held secrets, secrets I would uncover in time. But power without control was meaningless, and control without purpose was dangerous.

I needed a plan. A real one. Not just for myself, but for everything that was coming.

Livia watched as Sylas rushed off, his usual energy driving him forward without hesitation. She remained still, her arms loosely crossed, eyes narrowing slightly as she watched his figure disappear into the distance. The conversation lingered in her mind—training, fighting, preparing for what was to come. But was that truly enough? Was that all there was to it?

A slow breath escaped her lips as she turned her gaze upward, toward the vast, endless sky. The clouds drifted lazily, unbothered by the worries of those below. For a brief moment, she envied them—their simplicity, their ability to move without care, without consequence. But she had no such luxury.

Sylas was always so direct, always focused on the next battle, the next challenge to overcome. Strength was a tangible thing to him—something to be sharpened, wielded, tested against the world. But Livia knew better, didn't she? Strength alone wouldn't be enough. Even if they trained for years, even if they honed themselves to perfection, there were forces at play beyond mere power.

Her fingers twitched slightly as she exhaled again, slower this time, more controlled. Something in the air felt… off. She had felt it before. A whisper of something just beyond the edge of perception, a thread of knowledge that refused to fully reveal itself. It had been there for some time now, like a shadow stretching longer with each passing day.

She glanced at her own reflection in the nearby glass window of a quiet building. For a second, she thought she saw something else staring back at her—something beneath the surface of her own gaze. A trick of the light, perhaps. Or perhaps not.

Livia turned away before the thought could take root. There was no use dwelling on it now.

She should prepare. Yes, preparation was key. But the question remained: prepare for what?

A faint smile ghosted across her lips—an expression that held neither amusement nor joy, only quiet understanding.

She already knew.

Somewhere else in the multiverse

The Dark Sea of Eternity

The waves trembled beneath a sky choked with madness. The stars twisted, spiraling like eyes that gazed into the abyss, and the abyss gazed back. The air itself was heavy, thick with eldritch whispers that crawled into the mind, unraveling thoughts and reshaping them into something unrecognizable.

And then, the sea split open.

Rising from the depths, colossal beyond comprehension, was Cthulhu.

A horror draped in shifting shadows, its form both tangible and intangible, an amalgamation of writhing tendrils, impossibly vast wings, and an overwhelming presence that seeped into the bones of reality itself. Its eyes, infinite pools of cosmic malice, flickered open, and the universe shuddered.

"PH'NGLUI MGLW'NAFH CTHULHU R'LYEH WGAH'NAGL FHTAGN."

Its voice did not echo—it simply was, an omnipresent reverberation that shattered the silence of existence itself. Planets in the far reaches of the cosmos flickered like candle flames, collapsing into nothingness at the mere utterance of those words. The oceans of Earth churned violently, and time itself faltered, caught in the grasp of an entity that should never have awoken.

But then, a golden light cut through the abyss.

A figure stood atop the roiling waves, untouched by the chaos. His armor was tarnished and worn from wars untold, his crimson cape fluttering against the unnatural winds. He was neither shaken nor afraid. His presence was as unwavering as the stars before they were swallowed by madness.

Uhtem, the Great Miracle of Death.

Or as history would remember him—King Arthur Pendragon.

In his grasp, sheathed in its sacred scabbard, was Excalibur. A blade of legend, a weapon not of mere kings but of those who defied fate itself. Though it remained unsheathed, its restrained light pushed against the abyss, a beacon in the drowning dark.

He had come not to slay, but to correct.

The natural cycle of this universe had been interrupted. A mistake had been made—one that even time itself had recoiled from. Uhtem had traveled back, back through the rivers of eternity, to mend what had been broken.

Cthulhu's gaze fell upon him, its very presence attempting to erode his will, to drown him in its endless dream. But Uhtem did not falter. His mind, his soul—he had long transcended mortal constraints. The whispers of madness clawed at him, but he did not listen.

And then the battle began.

Cthulhu's massive form moved, reality quaking as one of its tendrils lashed forth. Space distorted around it, the force behind the strike warping the very concept of existence. But before it could land, Excalibur met it.

Still sheathed, yet unstoppable.

With a single swing, Uhtem cleaved through the attack, sending ripples of golden light across the ocean's surface. The severed tendril disintegrated, consumed by the sheer purity of the blade's presence.

Cthulhu did not hesitate. The sky blackened further as its wings expanded, blotting out what little remained of light. It surged forward, warping the distance between them in an instant. Its many arms descended, each strike powerful enough to break stars.

Uhtem moved.

He danced across the sea, every step atop the waves as if walking upon solid ground. Each strike that came for him was met with precision—he did not block, nor did he waste unnecessary movement. He merely redirected, flowing with the tide of battle rather than resisting it.

But he was not merely on the defensive.

In a flash, he closed the distance, appearing before the High Priest of the Great Old Ones. With a single step, he surged upward, his armored fist crashing into Cthulhu's face. The impact did not merely crack flesh—it shattered the air itself, sending shockwaves that tore apart the abyssal mist surrounding them.

Cthulhu reeled back, the unnatural silence of the battle briefly interrupted by a sound. Not a roar of pain—no, such a being did not feel pain as mortals did. But acknowledgment.

For the first time in an eternity, something had truly challenged it.

The sea raged as Cthulhu extended its full power, a maelstrom of eldritch energy engulfing the battlefield. Space folded in on itself, the concept of time bending at the creature's command.

Uhtem did not waver.

He knew that unsheathing Excalibur would be too much for this planet—it would tear through reality itself, erase rather than correct. And the Wheel of Fate, the Holy Grail, would not work on an entity like this.

This battle had to be fought with skill alone.

A test of will.

The ocean churned as their battle continued, the past and present colliding in a spectacle unseen by mortal eyes. Uhtem's strikes were precise, his movements honed from wars beyond count. Each clash sent tremors through the cosmos, each exchange rewriting the story of this moment.

Time would remember this battle not in words, but in whispers.

And in the end, as the sea calmed and the unnatural sky dimmed, only one figure remained standing.

Cthulhu, the High Priest of the Great Old Ones, sank once more beneath the waves—not slain, not destroyed, but returned to slumber. Order had been restored.

Uhtem sheathed Excalibur once more, his crimson cape billowing as he turned away.

The battle was over. But the story had only just begun.

The Great Old Miracle of Death knew that to fight an omnipresent deity was an act of futility—one could not truly defeat such a being, only delay its influence, correct the imbalance it caused, and restore the order that had been momentarily disrupted.

Though his battle with Cthulhu had ended, Uhtem did not allow himself the illusion of victory. Even if the High Priest of the Great Old Ones had been forced into slumber once more, even if the universe no longer trembled in the wake of its awakening, the consequences of such an event could not be ignored. Planets had been shattered, entire star systems consumed by the ripples of their clash, the very fabric of time and space torn at the seams.

But he was not powerless.

With a single motion, he extended his hand, and the Wheel of Fate activated.

It was not a weapon of mere destruction or power—it was an instrument of correction, a force that rewrote what was broken, altering the very laws that bound existence. As its gears turned, an unseen force spread across the void, reaching into the deepest scars left by the battle.

Time reversed—but not in a way that undid his actions. The destroyed planets, the lost civilizations, the fragmented echoes of reality—all were recreated, their forms restored not as imperfect imitations but as they were meant to be. The Wheel did not simply bring things back—it realigned them, reshaped them, ensuring that the natural course of fate continued undisturbed.

The aftereffects of Cthulhu's awakening were purged.

Cause and effect bent under the dominion of the Wheel. What had been lost was returned. What had been broken was made whole. The multiverse once again moved as it was meant to, the ripples of the High Priest's presence erased as if they had never existed.

But Uhtem knew the truth.

The treasures were not mere relics of power—they were artifacts that defied the fundamental laws of reality itself. Each one manipulated an aspect of the world, and the Wheel of Fate was no exception. With it, he did not merely influence destiny. He did not simply foresee possibilities.

He controlled them.

And yet, even as the universe settled into its rightful state, he could feel the weight of what had transpired. These battles—these corrections—would not end.

The Great Old Ones would stir again. The cycle would continue.

But he would be there.

As long as he drew breath, as long as he carried the Wheel of Fate and wielded Excalibur, he would stand at the precipice of oblivion, defying even the most unfathomable horrors.

For he was not merely a warrior, nor just a king.

He was the Great Old Miracle of Death.

Uhtem, the Great Old Miracle of Death, had long since accepted his role, not as a mere protector but as the defender of existence itself, an embodiment of resistance against the unimaginable forces that loomed beyond his universe. The Tree of Avalon, the very heart of the multiverse, stood as a symbol of creation, its roots entangled with the very fabric of reality itself. The Elder Gods—beings of infinite power and cosmic influence—had created it, yes, but it was not theirs to erase.

To them, the lower-dimensional worlds, the countless planes of existence that made up the multiverse, were nothing but fiction. In their eyes, they were stories, mere narratives that could be wiped clean with the simplest flick of a thought, the same way one might erase the ink on a page. The Elder Gods saw the multiverse as a comic strip, and all the characters within it—beings like Uhtem, the gods, the mortals—were no more significant than scribbles on a drawing.

It was a terrifying thought. The power of the Elder Gods transcended mortal understanding. They could obliterate entire realities without lifting a finger, without so much as a second thought. The Tree of Avalon could easily be swept away by the whims of these cosmic beings. Yet, one thing remained constant: Uhtem.

He was not just a knight, nor a king, nor a warrior. He was something more. He was a shield, forged by time and bound to the very heart of Avalon itself. His existence, his unwavering protection, was the only thing that stood between the Elder Gods and the destruction of the multiverse. As long as he stood guard, the Elder Gods could not—would not—erase this narrative. This story.

Because, no matter how powerful they were, no matter how far beyond his comprehension they might seem, the Elder Gods had never understood one simple truth: the story would not end if Uhtem was alive.

The Elder Gods, powerful though they were, could not conceive of one thing—the will of the universe. The Tree of Avalon was not just a creation of theirs; it was the beating heart of a multiverse that had come to exist in its own right. And its will, through Uhtem, would protect it at all costs.

If the Elder Gods, in their arrogance, ever sought to erase the multiverse, they would find themselves facing something they had never anticipated: death. For Uhtem was not merely the protector of Avalon—he was the embodiment of death itself. And death, when it came, could not be erased. Not by gods, not by time, not by anything.

The very Wheel of Fate, the first treasure, granted him dominion over life and death, over fate itself. He could alter the flow of time, twist the threads of destiny, and bind the laws of the multiverse to his will. And so, with the Elder Gods' power to erase this universe rendered meaningless in the face of his own, the balance was struck: they would not destroy it—not as long as Uhtem stood.

His role was clear: protect the Tree of Avalon. Defend the multiverse. As long as he drew breath, the Elder Gods would never erase this narrative. They might try. They might come with their unfathomable power and their vast cosmic wills. But Uhtem would be there. And when they tried to break the story, to end it all with a snap of their fingers, they would be met with death—not as a concept, but as an inevitability.

For the Great Old Miracle of Death had one thing that the Elder Gods could never understand: resolve. The multiverse would live on, as long as Uhtem existed within it. And in that existence, there would always be a story. A story that would not end until the final chapter was written.

And in that chapter, it would not be the Elder Gods who stood triumphant, but Uhtem—the protector, the defender, the final guardian against those who would seek to undo everything.