chapter 14

Leaving his throne behind, the king set out on a journey unlike any before him. He sought weapons forged from the bones of fallen deities, magic drawn from the very essence of the universe itself. He trained his body, his mind, his soul—preparing for the ultimate war.

The gods, watching from their celestial thrones, laughed at first.

"Let the little king dream," they whispered. "He is still bound by mortality.

"

But as time passed, their laughter faded. Because the king was no longer just a man.He had seen beyond the veil of fate. He had broken a curse that had lasted for centuries.

And now, he was coming for them.

One by one, he hunted them. The weakest fell first—forgotten gods whose names were barely spoken, whose power had waned over time. Their divine ichor stained his blade, their celestial bodies crumbled to dust.

The heavens trembled.

The gods, for the first time in eternity, felt something they had never known before.

Fear.

Because the Godslayer had risen. And he would not stop until every last one of them fell

The king had begun his war against the divine, cutting down lesser gods and shaking the heavens. But as he ventured deeper into the path of god-killing, he uncovered a secret even more terrifying than the gods themselves.

He was not the first.

In the ruins of an ancient, long-lost empire, the king discovered a name that had been erased from history—The First Godslayer.

He had once been like the king—a mortal who had defied the gods, who had fought against fate. He had risen against them with unmatched fury, slaughtering divine beings one by one. The heavens had trembled before his wrath. He had been close, so very close, to victory.

But then, he vanished.

Simply erased.

Deep in the ruins, the king found the last writings of the First Godslayer, etched into the stone walls in letters carved with blood and fury:

"You are not the first. You will not be the last. The gods do not fear death. They fear being forgotten."

"If you walk this path, you will cease to exist. Your name will be erased. Your victories will be undone. No one will remember you—not your people, not your loved ones, not even history itself."

This is the true curse of the Godslayer. Not death. Not defeat. Oblivion."

The king stood frozen as realization crashed down upon him. The gods had not just killed the First Godslayer—they had erased him from reality itself. No stories, no legends, no memory of his rebellion remained.

If the king continued, if he struck down the greatest of gods, he would suffer the same fate.

He would win, but at the cost of never having existed at all

.

His kingdom would never know his rule. His people would never speak his name. Even

the woman he had once loved—the one he had sworn never to replace—would forget he had ever drawn breath.

Would vengeance be worth eternal nothingness?

From the heavens, the gods watched, amused once more.

"Now you know, little king," they whispered. "Now you see why no one has ever succeeded. Power means nothing if no one remembers you wielded it."

"Will you strike us down, knowing that even your greatest victory will be swallowed by time?"

The king, standing in the ruins of a forgotten warrior's legacy, knew he had to make a choice.

To fight and fade into oblivion.

Or to abandon his war and let the gods remain.

But the gods had underestimated one thing.

He was not like the First Godslayer. He had seen their games before. And he would not play by their rules.

With a slow smile