The Realm Without Gods
Zion took a breath before he could answer.
But the moment the air filled his lungs—
the Crossroad vanished.
He did not fall.
He was taken.
Drawn through a fracture in existence, into a realm where no Lwa reigned, no pantheon stood, and not even Ginen could reach him.
Here, only demon gods walked.
The sky bled ash and molten stars.
The ground was jagged black stone, alive and watching.
Zion stood on a circular plateau that hovered above an ocean of broken thrones, shattered relics of forgotten deities.
And from the darkness, they came.
Not monsters. Not beasts.
But towering demon gods—divine in form, terrible in presence.
Each wore crowns made of things that should not exist.
One bore a robe of ticking time.
Another's flesh was stitched from regrets.
A third walked with no face, only voices from every soul it had devoured.
Yet they did not attack.
They circled him, curious.
"Another would-be king," one sneered.
"You reek of gods."
"And yet… you were offered our throne."
"Why pause?"
"Why doubt?"
Zion said nothing at first.
Then answered, not in defense—but in truth.
"Because I see the weight of both. And you… you've never put yours down."
The faceless one laughed—a thousand screams in unison.
"We never wanted to. That's why we still rule."
A great wind howled.
A name rippled through the realm.
Duthak.
The demon god who once gave Ayola secrets now stepped forward, armored in soulstone.
He bowed—not mockingly, but with reverence.
"You walk where few mortals survive, Zion. You came not to destroy… but to understand."
He raised his hand and revealed a shard of the First Flame, a memory even Ginen had buried.
"Come deeper. Learn what gods fear.
Then choose, not as a child of the Lwa…
But as the one the Crossroad itself could not bind."
The other demon gods parted.
Not in submission.
But in respect.
And Zion stepped forward—
into the heart of fallen divinity.