The skies had long forgotten the sun.
Where once gods ruled, now Zhel-Vorah, the Berserk King, walked.
His presence alone ruptured space. Realities folded beneath his feet as if the cosmos itself feared his next step. He had slain entities far beyond comprehension— whose existence once threatened the Multiverse. Their screams now echoed only in the pit of Oblivion.
Countless times, the voice of Solmiras, the True Dragon God, reached him:
"My son... seek salvation. Seek peace. Come home."
But Zhel-Vorah answered with silence—or worse, a roar that shattered dimensions.
He had long abandoned the path of peace.
With his own hands, he forged an army unlike any other.
At his side stood:
Myrrak'thal
Vyrealis
Tharagon
Each one a son of Solmiras. Each one a half-brother. Created by the god who loved to call himself father, yet who betrayed every creation by abandoning them to suffering.
But Zhel-Vorah was not bound by blood.
He had made himself into a god-slayer, and now the worlds called him.
The Berserk King.
A Flicker of Light
Even in the darkest abyss, a spark can appear.
One day, as the sky wept ash and the ground trembled beneath his steps, Zhel-Vorah walked alone—his obsidian armor soaked with the blood of immortals.
Then… he saw her.
A girl.
Lyn.
Hair like moonlight. Eyes like still water. Standing on the edge of a ruined village, unafraid. Everyone around her trembled in terror—but she stood still.
Their eyes met.
And in that moment, Zhel-Vorah felt something bloom within him.
Love.
"Why do you not run?" he asked, his voice like cracked stone.
She smiled gently.
"Because I see a man. Not a monster."
She was the first to speak to him as if he was more than rage.
From strangers, they became friends.
From friends to lovers.
From lovers to husband and wife.
And on a quiet night, under stars that feared to shine above him, Lyn came to him with trembling hands.
"Zhel," she whispered, tears clinging to her lashes.
"I… I'm pregnant."
For the first time in all the ages of his existence—he fell to his knees.
He pressed his forehead to her stomach, feeling the fragile spark of life.
"A child…" he whispered. "Our child?"
She nodded.
Zhel-Vorah wept.
For hope. For love. For a future he never thought he'd deserve.
But happiness, like glass, is easily shattered.
One day, while Zhel-Vorah led a campaign against the corrupted monsters in the western galaxies, they came.
His mother.
The dragon who birthed him with hatred and raised him with chains.
She had waited for this moment for eons.
Zhel-Vorah's palace burned.
His soldiers, unprepared, were slaughtered.
And Lyn—the woman who gave him peace—was taken.
When Zhel-Vorah returned, the air was thick with smoke and betrayal.
He landed on the charred ruins of his residence. And then—he saw her.
Lyn. Bound in chains. Her belly swollen with their unborn child.
And standing above her, a devil in draconic flesh—his mother, wreathed in flame.
"Kneel," she commanded.
The Berserk King stood, unblinking. His eyes trembled. Then slowly, he knelt.
"Spare her… please."
"Take my life instead."
His voice cracked—not from pain, but from love. From helplessness.
For a brief moment, silence fell.
Then—
"No."
"You deserve to suffer like I did, you cursed whelp."
And with a smile, she plunged her sword into Lyn's stomach.
Lyn's scream rang through the heavens.
Blood poured down her robes.
Zhel-Vorah didn't move.
He couldn't.
His heart cracked.
"Zhel… I'm sorry…" Lyn whispered, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.
And then, with a flick of her wrist, his mother bathed Lyn in dragonfire.
Her body burned.
Her unborn child—their child—was incinerated.
All that remained… was ash.
Silence.
Zhel-Vorah rose slowly, his head bowed.
His mother's army jeered. She laughed.
"You thought you could defy me? Fall in love? You were born broken—just a mistake in the womb of gods."
Zhel-Vorah said nothing.
But then…
The world shuddered.
The earth beneath him cracked.
The sky darkened.
The very laws of reality bent.
His armor shattered, revealing molten scales of red and black. His eyes—no longer eyes, but burning voids. His wings tore through the sky.
"You…" he whispered.
"…killed everything I had left."
Power erupted from him like the scream of a dying star.
Before they could move, his mother's soldiers were vaporized, one by one—turned to ash, to blood, to nothingness.
His mother stepped back, for the first time—afraid.
"Zhel…?"
He turned to her. There was no trace of the son she once tortured.
There was only the storm.
"I begged you."
"I knelt."
"And you took her anyway."
His voice was quiet, trembling not with weakness, but rage.
"Now beg."
She screamed and took flight—but it was too late.
Zhel-Vorah caught her mid-air, tore through her wings, smashed her into the mountainside, and pinned her beneath his claw.
"Please—! I am your mother." she gasped.
But he didn't listen.
He unleashed upon her the pain of ten thousand years.
He ripped her scales off one by one.
Crushed her bones.
Broke her wings.
And then, staring into her dying eyes—
"Burn," he said.
With a roar that tore through creation, Zhel-Vorah unleashed his Dragon Breath forged from hatred and grief. The fire did not just kill—it erased her from existence.
Nothing remained.
When the flames died, Zhel-Vorah stood alone amidst the ashes.
His palace. His soldiers. His wife. His unborn child.
All gone.
He fell to his knees once more—but not in joy.
"Lyn…" he whispered to the wind.
A small, charred ribbon, once tied in her hair, fluttered down and landed in his hand.
He closed his fist around it.
Then he stood.
The Berserk King was no more.
What rose from the ashes… was something else.
A god of wrath.
A storm of despair.
A force no longer bound by fate, blood, or love.
Zhel-Vorah now walked not as a son…
Not as a king…
But as the end.
But his hope didn't shatter.
"Lyn...Just wait for me. No matter what I will find a way to revive you. If I have to destroy the whole cosmos, so I will do."