Long before the universes existed…
Before stars blazed their first light…
Before even the Cardinal World had formed under Veldanava's hand...
There was a mistake.
A creation—not of evil, but of imbalance. Too powerful, too curious, and too unbound by structure.
This being was Veldanava's earliest creation—his first attempt to craft sentient life from the raw energies of possibility. It was made not from laws and order, but from the primordial flux, the same chaos that preceded the divine systems.
Its name was forgotten to time, but the echoes in the divine halls called it:
"Noctis Nihilo, the Abyssal Scourge"
The One Thrown Into the Void.
When Veldanava looked upon his creation, he saw not malice but incompatibility. Noctis did not obey the laws of life, balance, or even death. It absorbed order. It resisted divinity. It was not evil, but it was untethered—a being that could not coexist with what Veldanava intended to build.
And so, with a heavy heart, Veldanava did what only a god could:
He cast Noctis into the Void of Oblivion, a realm outside all realities, beyond space, beyond even the Grand Order's influence.
There, it would sleep.
And perhaps… in time… fade.
But Noctis did not fade.
It dreamed.
And in its dreaming, its hatred grew.
Elsewhere, in a sealed rift within the fractured dimension of Gaelvren, a storm raged for millennia. Not a storm of wind—but of fury.
This was the prison of Ivarage, the Chaos Dragon.
Once a monstrous force of destruction, Ivarage had ravaged multiple planes before Veldanava himself intervened. But rather than destroy the dragon, Veldanava made a gamble.
"If even chaos can learn," he had said, "then peace is truly possible."
He sealed Ivarage deep within a realm of isolation, hoping time would grant the beast sentience, compassion—understanding.
But time failed.
All that remained was fury. Pure, howling, cosmic fury.
And now, something was happening.
The seals... trembled.
The chaos was stirring.
Far beyond even the Gaelvren prison, in the deepest recess of the Oblivion Void—a pulse broke the stillness. Like a dying star's last beat… a flicker of memory returned.
The slumber ended.
Eyes opened.
Noctis awoke.
And with its awakening came an awareness of everything that had changed in the eons it had slept. It sensed the universes Veldanava created… the divine structures… the laws… the beings of strength and pride…
And it hated them.
"So... he abandoned me and replaced me... with this?"
Its voice cracked the edges of the Void.
Its presence pierced the fabric of unclaimed dimensions.
And just like that, Noctis moved.
Noctis arrived in a world of crystal spires and endless light—Lumerith, home of the Luxari, beings forged from eternal starlight.
They did not recognize him.
They welcomed him.
And then he devoured their sky.
Entire nations vanished under silence. There was no war, no invasion—just erasure. Concepts of resistance failed to form. The Luxari didn't die. They ceased.
The stars dimmed.
And in their wake, Noctis whispered one word:
"Unworthy."
Then came the Orron Belt, home to sunbound giants. Then Zelpharia, a world of timeweavers. Then Ruk'Tul, a titan-god stronghold.
Each fell without resistance. Noctis didn't need armies. He was the army.
He bent reality.
He dissolved matter.
He rewrote the physics of entire dimensions.
His goal?
Not destruction.
Domination.
To replace every structure, every divine framework, with his own essence. To overwrite existence with his truth.
And still, he avoided the Cardinal World.
Not out of fear.
Out of curiosity.
In the void of his watching, Noctis saw Varvatos, the Supreme One.
He saw Velzard, guardian of winter.
He saw Guy, the Crimson Harbinger.
He saw Rimuru, the new sovereign who bore a strange resonance with the flow of creation.
And then… he sensed something else.
A stirring deep in a sealed realm…
Ivarage was waking.
"Another chaos," Noctis mused.
"Unrefined. Untamed. But... useful."
He smiled.
The Cardinal World would wait.
For now, Noctis would reshape the other realms, absorb them into himself.
And when he did approach the world of Demon Lords, of Rimuru, of the Supreme One…
"They will either kneel... or be made part of me."
The evening sky above Nyvaris was calm—painted in hues of fading gold and soft crimson. A cool wind whispered through the balcony of the Supreme Palace, rustling the banners bearing the crest of Varvatos.
Yet within that stillness, Varvatos felt a pulse.
For days now, he had stood on this very balcony, silently gazing beyond the stars. Not just observing the skies—but feeling them. Listening.
And tonight, they were restless.
The heavens shimmered unnaturally, not visible to mortal eyes, but to Varvatos—the Supreme One, ruler of Nyvaris and master of countless truths—it was clear.
Something was shifting.
Something beyond the edge of all known realms.
He narrowed his gaze. There it was again—a faint tremor, a distortion of cosmic balance, as though reality itself was holding its breath.
Soft footsteps approached.
Velzard, the white dragon empress and his beloved, stepped quietly behind him. Her silver hair gleamed under the twilight, and her calm aura provided a strange contrast to the tension in Varvatos' frame.
"Darling," she said gently, wrapping her arms around his arm, "you've been watching the sky for too long lately. You didn't even touch your wine this evening."
Her voice was laced with concern—rare for someone of her composure.
"What is it that's bothering you?"
Varvatos turned to look at her, his sharp eyes softening. He reached for her waist, pulling her gently closer. Without a word, he leaned forward and kissed her, deeply, tenderly—a moment of solace before an impending storm.
Then he whispered near her ear, his voice low but heavy:
"Something is moving… beyond the stars."
Velzard blinked, confused at first. But then she saw his expression—not of confusion or curiosity, but of grim certainty.
"Something… long forgotten has awakened," he continued, his tone growing colder, more resolute. "It's devouring everything in its path—universes, dimensions, whole realities. Silently. Efficiently. Without mercy."
Velzard's eyes widened. "You mean… something even you don't recognize?"
He nodded slowly.
"Not fully. But I remember the remnants. A creation… older than the stars, yet hidden so well even time forgot it. It wasn't meant to exist. Even Veldanava… erased it."
Velzard stepped back, shaken. Varvatos never spoke of Veldanava lightly. To say something was erased by the Creator Himself meant it was an existential threat—something that could not be allowed to coexist with order.
"What… could it be?" she asked.
Varvatos clenched his hand. "A mistake. A being crafted not by chaos, not by darkness, but by sheer curiosity… and it grew beyond control. Veldanava cast it into Oblivion. But now—" he paused, looking up once more.
"—Now it stirs."
He looked toward the stars again. The skies seemed calm, but he could hear the faint echo of falling realms, distant screams muffled by void.
"And it's not coming for us… yet. But it knows we're here."
Velzard's hands trembled slightly, a rare display of fear from the dragon of winter.
"Should we warn the others? Rimuru, Guy, Milim—?"
Varvatos exhaled. "Not yet. Not until I am sure it is heading this way. For now, it devours the other realms."
He stepped down from the balcony and held Velzard's hand tightly.
"But we must prepare. Something worse than the Abyss is rising."
In the depths of the Oblivion Veil, Noctis Nihilo stirred again.
His senses tingled.
A presence had noticed him.
"So… the Supreme One watches."
Noctis grinned.
"Then let him watch. Let them all watch. The age of divine structures is over. Soon, the universes will no longer sing songs of gods or Demon Lords…"
He floated amidst the ruins of a fallen realm, absorbing its final fragments of reality.
"They will chant only one name—mine."