Chapter-14: The Sovereigns' Descent – When Eternity Shatters

The Fantasy of Victory – A Hollow Triumph

The heavens were torn asunder by the arrival of the divine host.

Blazing auroras of celestial flame and astral fury painted the battlefield in a symphony of destruction.

From the ruptured firmament, 100 Celestials and 50 Creators surged forth—behemoths of divine majesty, each a living apocalypse.

Their forms were monstrous and mythic, manifestations of concepts made flesh.

One Celestial emerged as a colossal, ten-headed drake, each maw spewing a different primordial force—time, space, entropy, and creation itself.

Another took the form of a walking nebula, its limbs composed of swirling galactic storms, trailing supernovas with every step.

A Creator, draped in paradox, wielded a blade of causality, severing the very sequence of events with a single stroke.

Another was a vast, skeletal titan adorned in flayed timelines, its ribs dripping with the remnants of lost realities.

They moved as gods of unfathomable wrath, striking with divine weapons forged from the marrow of stars, hell-bent on annihilating the generals.

The gods' battle cries reverberated across dimensions, shattering realms with their fury.

And before them stood Hollow and Thrust—unmoving. Unimpressed.

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The Deception Begins – A War Against Phantoms

The first strike came with apocalyptic force.

Thrust grinned—but it was not a grin of mirth.

It was the feral sneer of a predator humoring prey, his fingers curling around his sphere of annihilation.

The Celestial drake lunged, its ten heads striking in unison.

Their jaws crushed through dimensions, reducing entire pocket universes to collapsing voids.

Thrust spun his sphere once.

A casual flick.

And the drake's entire being collapsed.

Its maws gnashed at nothing, its fangs biting into its own temporal existence.

The creature contorted, its ten heads folding inward, devouring itself into oblivion.

The nebula giant swung with arms that carried the weight of countless galaxies, but Hollow walked through it.

The stars within the nebula dimmed, then vanished—as if they had never existed.

Its form fractured into pieces of forgotten history, dissolving into nothing more than scattered memories.

And yet, the divine forces pressed forward, undeterred.

A Creator of war and ruin plunged a lance of distilled causality into Hollow's chest, its tip carrying the weight of collapsed dimensions.

Thrust was bound by a convergence of celestial chains, forged from the bones of dead gods, pulled tight by the arms of a pantheon.

Spears of astral light impaled them both, piercing through their forms with devastating precision.

Hollow's form twisted.

His eyes dimmed, and the shadows around him thinned.

For a moment, it appeared as if the gods had done the impossible.

And then… he collapsed.

Fallen.

Slain.

The battlefield erupted in euphoria.

The gods cheered, their roars shaking the firmament, believing they had slain Zepxaris' greatest champions.

But they were deceived.

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The Illusion Fractures – Reality Splinters

The victory was short-lived.

The divine warriors, still dripping with the blood of their supposed enemies, felt the world shift beneath them.

The ground dissolved, melting into spectral ash.

The sky fractured.

Its stars bled away like droplets of ink on water.

The celestial light dimmed, turning into a pale, withering mist.

The gods clutched their weapons—but their blades were gone, their divine armor splintered.

Their hands grasped at nothingness, clawing at the absence of reality itself.

And then, they saw it.

The bodies of Hollow and Thrust—their lifeless forms scattered across the field—flickered.

Like afterimages.

Faint echoes of phantasmal lies.

Their victory was an illusion.

A deception so perfect, so intricately woven into reality, that even the fabric of existence had been fooled.

The gods stared into the void with horrified realization.

They had not even come close to the true generals.

The beings they fought were mere shadows—phantasms conjured by Hollow's unfathomable power.

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The Real Battle Begins – The Brutal Apex

The veil shattered, and with it, so did their delusions of supremacy.

Before them stood the true Hollow and Thrust.

Unscathed.

Unbothered.

Untouchable.

Hollow's eyes were voids of absolute oblivion.

Not angry.

Not even cruel.

Just... detached.

Thrust's grin widened—not with fury, but with sadistic glee.

He rolled his sphere lazily in his hand, as if toying with the fate of entire pantheons.

"Your fantasy was fun..." he sneered.

"Now let us show you how reality screams."

And then they attacked.

Thrust became extinction incarnate.

His sphere spun violently, tearing through the divine host with each rotation.

Entire divine legions were bisected—not slain, but forgotten, erased from the annals of existence.

The battlefield fractured into blackened voids, divine realms collapsing with every swing.

Realities unraveled, folding in on themselves as time ruptured with every strike.

Hollow became oblivion made flesh.

He did not wield a weapon.

He did not cast a spell.

He simply walked.

And everything he walked through ceased to be.

Beings unmade with a glance, their divine forms splintering into fragments of lost memories.

Worlds burned away, not by fire or wrath, but by the weight of non-existence.

Gods screamed as they vanished without trace, their souls reduced to cosmic ash.

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The Sovereigns Descend – The First True Resistance

Then, the Sovereigns came.

The sky collapsed.

No portal.

No fanfare.

Just a sheer erasure of distance, as if reality itself was ripped apart to make way for their presence.

The first Sovereign emerged—a crystalline colossus, its limbs forged from collapsing galaxies, annihilating dimensions with every movement.

The second was a paradox, coiled in infinite timelines, existing across all possible outcomes simultaneously.

The third was distortion itself, a being that both existed and did not, its form defying every natural law.

For the first time in eons, the Sovereigns did not look entertained.

They looked cautious.

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The Revelation – The Forgotten One and the Hidden Sovereigns

Beyond the battlefield, in the void where even the Sovereigns dared not tread, others watched.

The Forgotten One stirred.

A being whose name was erased from creation, leaving only an echo of dread.

And yet, he was not alone.

In the shadows, new watchers emerged.

Beings equal to the Sovereigns, neither allies nor enemies.

They simply observed—silent, omnipresent, and unrecorded.

For the first time, the Sovereigns felt the unknown.

They were no longer alone.

And somewhere, beyond existence, Zepxaris smiled.

For even the Sovereigns were now uncertain of their supremacy.

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