Chapter 26: Siege of the Crucible
There was no sky.
Above, below, around—the void stretched endlessly, lit only by the Crucible.
It floated there like a malignant star, throbbing in slow pulses that distorted time with every beat. An amalgamation of ancient bones, shattered timelines, screaming fragments of gods, and stitched loops of doomed realities — it defied shape, always shifting, always bleeding. It wasn't built.
It was born.
And now it called all things home.
The Final Alliance had come.
Over a thousand sovereigns, demigods, wraith-knights, and paradox-born stood arrayed on the brink of unreality. Once enemies, now bound by extinction's approach. The end had made allies of all things still capable of hope.
At the forefront, a figure slammed her warblade into the void-plain.
Maraeth, the Phoenix Widow, roared, igniting herself in pure grieffire. Her wings unfurled with shrieks of vengeance. She dove first into the Crucible's defensive phantoms—mirror shades of those they had lost. Illusions of lovers, brothers, children. Each kill tore at the soul.
Behind her, Therion, last Warden of the Vanished City, summoned a symphony of stillness. With each sweep of his staff, entire flanks of enemies froze—locked in time, their expressions caught in disbelief.
> "No second chances," he murmured. "This moment must hold."
Even Kaelis—what remained of him—hovered above the field, wings of fractured flame crackling. His voice was gone, but his fire still spoke.
And yet…
The Crucible remained untouched.
Its core floated behind a veil of anguish—a barrier woven from memory and sorrow. Each attempt to pierce it echoed back, forcing warriors to relive the very moments that broke them.
Some screamed and fell. Others clawed at their own hearts. None could pass.
Except one.
From the army's rear, Wang Chung stepped forward.
He carried no armor. No weapons. No visible aura.
Only his burden.
> "Stand down," he said.
The wind stopped.
Even the Crucible seemed to hush.
He walked alone across the void-plain. With each step, the world reacted—not with resistance, but remembrance.
Yu Meilan's laugh echoed beside him.
Lei Hanyi's final breath brushed his ears.
Long Tian's smile—the one before the corruption—flashed in the corner of his vision.
The barrier welcomed him.
Because he was made of regret.
Every moment he failed.
Every life he could not save.
Every truth he buried.
The barrier opened like a mouth.
He stepped into the Crucible's maw—and it devoured him.
Pain? No. That would have been easier.
What came was worse: clarity.
Memories returned. Not only his—but everyone's.
A million voices cried out.
His mother's final lullaby.
His master's unspoken pride.
The dead Sovereigns of the First Dawn, whispering their last wishes.
And then…
Yu Meilan.
> "If you find this, it means I'm already forgetting you… but I'll keep waiting. Even if I no longer remember why."
Wang Chung fell to his knees, eyes streaming. His hands clenched the burning air as time cracked around him.
> "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I wasn't strong enough."
And that—
That broke the Crucible.
It shuddered, its form collapsing in on itself like a star consuming its own light. The paradox barrier screamed as if in mourning, threads of memory snapping and writhing.
And at the center, something stirred—
A sphere of light. Dim. Flickering.
Within it floated Yu Meilan, asleep, her form fraying like a silk ribbon in fire.
Wang Chung reached for her.
And just as his fingers brushed hers—
A blade pierced his back.
He turned, coughing blood.
And saw him.
Long Tian.
The corrupted twin. The fallen brother.
No longer a man. Not even a Sovereign. A creature of silence and control.
> "You were never meant to survive this long," Long Tian said coldly. "Hope must end. And she… is its last seed."
Wang Chung, eyes darkening, gripped the hilt impaled in him—
And smiled.
> "Then let's see if the last seed burns brighter… than the Void itself."
And with a scream that tore apart realms, Wang Chung's soul ignited—half Sovereign, half broken man, and entirely fury.