The Weight of Becoming
As the chosen stood in the realm between realms, the air shifted again—dense, heavy, charged with unseen truth.
The young demons lifted their heads, feeling the rush of newfound power coursing through their veins.
But with it came a wave of terror.
From the ground beneath them, chains of sin rose—clinking, groaning—fastened to their ankles. Each link shimmered with memories not fully their own: rage, hunger, betrayal, blood.
The chains pulsed, linked to a creeping darkness that slithered toward them—slow, patient, eternal.
The young demons felt it watching, waiting.
They realized: power came with a price, and they were already paying it.
The young gods froze.
A divine light wrapped around their forms—not comforting, but blinding.
Then it struck.
Rules—unspoken, ancient, immutable—imprinted themselves into their minds like brands on sacred parchment.
What gods must never do.
What gods must always be.
What gods are never allowed to feel.
The truth of divinity was not just power—but constraint.
Some trembled.
Some wept.
Some stood silent, trying to understand whether their choice had been a blessing—or a beautiful cage.
Zion watched.
He did not interfere.
He knew: this was the price of ascension.
The beginning of understanding who they had become.
And what they might still choose to be