Chapter 12 - "Ending of the Prologue"

With that, Eryx retreated from the conversation, hurrying down to his private chambers.

Retreating to his personal chambers, the demon—fuming from the last interaction—made contact through an ancient arcane communication device. The chamber was dim and quiet, walls covered in ancient symbols and relics of a bygone era. The device, half-ancient artifact, half-modern gadget, vibrated with power as the demon entered a single word of untranslated language reserved only for the most high-ranking levels of the demonic councils.

On the other line, an aide—a shadowy figure who was the bringer of news—answered, his tone reserved but inquiring. "What occurred?" the aide asked.

The demon began his meticulous report, his voice even as he recited each step of the encounter, the destruction of the explosion, and the aftermath. He told of how the relic had been stolen by a mysterious human, and how it had transported him, compelling him to make a frantic escape in disguise. His words were imbued with anger and a creepy sense of awe at the unpredictability of fate.

Following a long and elaborate transmission, the assistant responded, "Your message will be passed on. But… 'MASTER' is in meditation now." His tone was resigned, as if he was accustomed to such breaks in the natural order of events.

The call ended abruptly, and the room was left in a thick silence.

The assistant then attempted to clarify the issue to an unseen peer, trying to put together the implications of the demon's report. Just then, as if fate itself had called to it, an unexpected presence announced itself.

From the shadows of the chamber, a figure—one whose very presence seemed to exude authority and ancient power. His eyes, dark and ominous, fixed upon the assistant with an intensity that caused shivers to run down the spine. He was dressed in—

Wait, why isn't it typing? The keyboard is functioning, so why can't I continue it?

Wait, WHAT??? Why are the words being typed on their own?

In a voice that was both a command and a warning, I yelled, "Don't!"

My tone was so severe that it seemed to rip through the fabric of the 4th Wall. My voice was not at my assistant but towards you, the AUTHOR!

The assistant stood still, his heart racing as the figure went on, "Author, let us not reveal too much. The prologue has just concluded. Recall, you can only write it, only if I give you permission." The figure cast his eye right on the assistant. "It is as per our plan and the prophecy. Let things be. The world is going to experience a major transformation."

At that moment of dread, the sheer magnitude of what was unfolding revealed itself—a sinister tapestry of manipulation, treachery, and celestial plan, wherein every pawn, every move, was directed by hidden hands.

The message was clear: nothing was ever as it appeared, and the coming revolution would remake the fabric of reality.

With the assistant's trembling words hanging in the air, the weight of the prologue settled over the hidden chambers of power.

The Order, the demonic disciples, and the mysterious forces orchestrating it all were converging toward an uncertain, tumultuous future. The artifact, now in the hands of the main character, pulsed with a silent promise of upheaval—a promise that would soon echo through the realms.

The prologue, with its secrets and betrayals, its divine machinations and human greed, had reached its conclusion. But as the ancient call had warned, the world was on the brink of a monumental change—a cataclysmic transformation that would see old orders crumble and new powers arise.

ARC 0: PROLOGUE has concluded.

BOOM.

The universe shuddered.

Across all realms, from the highest celestial planes to the deepest abyssal pits, an unseen force rippled through existence.

Then—

A voice resonated. Not spoken, not heard, but felt.

"The first phase of the prophecy has begun."

It wasn't a declaration. It was a law.

Then—

Somewhere. In an unknown realm.

A figure sat in deep meditation, untouched by time. His presence alone warped reality, storms raging in the distance, the very ground beneath him rejecting existence.

At the prophecy's declaration, his eyes opened.

Slowly, he rose to his feet.

The skies split apart.

Lightning tore through the heavens, crashing down around him—but he did not stop. One step. Then another.

He walked straight into the storm.

Then—

Silence.

And in the Mortal Realm, a certain someone had just opened his eyes.