The shadowy creature lowered its head to where Ash's broken body had fallen, but the ground was empty, only torn soil and dark stains marked the place where he had been. The beast tilted its head, massive limbs cracking under its weight as it scanned the clearing, sniffing the air like it was trying to catch the trace of something fleeting. Its long, jagged limbs shifted uneasily, and then it saw him, a lone figure standing far from where it had last seen him.
The figure's clothes were black, smeared with dirt and blood. His hair stood slightly in the air, as if charged with static, swaying with the unseen currents of power. But his face... In its place was a hollow void, deep and dark, with only two white flames burning where eyes should have been.
The figure's head was bowed, strands of hair casting shadows over that endless blackness. He was still, and the ground around his feet began to crack, tiny fractures spreading outward like spider webs.
The creature paused, its long claws scraping against the ground. There was something primal about its fear, a shiver that ran through its body as it watched the figure raise his head. Those white flames locked onto it. The beast let out a roar that sent birds scattering from distant treetops. It lunged forward, claws slicing through the air, driven by desperation more than hunger. But the figure didn't flinch. He didn't even draw his sword. He just... moved. A sidestep, smooth and deliberate, his body bending just enough for the claws to miss him by mere inches.
The creature staggered, its momentum carrying it past him, and the figure raised his hand. His palm opened slowly, fingers stretching wide as if reaching for something invisible.
The creature crashed to the ground, its limbs collapsing beneath it as if the very earth had yanked it down. It screeched, legs kicking up dust, clawing at the ground but unable to lift itself. Its eyes were wide with terror. The figure took one slow step forward, and then another, the sound of his boots cracking the earth with each step. He didn't need his sword; there was no need for blades or weapons. The creature spasmed once, then lay still, its black limbs splayed out like broken branches.
High above, the Vulcers that had circled like vultures flapped their wings, cawing nervously. They watched from the gray clouds, their long necks craning down to catch a glimpse of the scene below. One of them let out a screech and descended, claws outstretched. But the figure simply tilted his head in its direction, and it stopped mid-dive, wings flapping wildly to pull itself back into the sky. One by one, the Vulcers turned, their massive wings beating against the stormy air as they fled, vanishing into the distant clouds. Whatever they had seen, it was enough.
The figure stood alone now, his back slightly bent, shoulders trembling as if he were in pain continuously. His hands, still loose at his sides, shook slightly, but he didn't seem to notice, or maybe he didn't care. His head turned slowly, that faceless void staring out at the scattered bodies of the unconscious heroes. He took a step forward, then stopped, his head turning sharply to the side, as if sensing something far off, something distant but familiar.
The trembling grew worse. His hands clenched and unclenched, fingertips brushing against the hilt of his sword as if reaching for comfort. And then he ran, faster than the wind. His feet barely touched the ground as he moved. The ground cracked beneath his footsteps, splitting open with raw energy. He was not just running, he was gliding, almost flying.
Without stopping, he unsheathed his sword, its blade humming with power. He swung it mid-stride, slicing through the very air, and the space before him cracked open, a line of darkness splitting reality itself. He didn't hesitate, he ran right through it, swallowed whole by the blinding light.
When he emerged, he stood in the center of a vast colosseum, but this place, it wasn't real. The walls spiraled upwards into nothingness, stretching far beyond the reach of the sky. There were no stands, no seats—just tiers of stone layered upon one another, spiraling higher and higher. All around him, perched on those endless tiers, were beings. Thousands of them, motionless and silent.
They had no eyes. Their sockets were hollow, dark pits that seemed to breathe in the light. Their faces were carved smooth and emotionless, like stone statues frozen in time. They stared, not with eyes, but with something deeper, something that watched without needing to see.
A hoarse voice hummed through the air, vibrating through the marrow of his bones. "Demigods of Insanity..." it whispered, stretching the words like an echo dragged from the depths of madness. "The Creator's will shall be carried out once again... The Gods shall die... and your Lord Insanity shall not receive death... but be led to nothingness."
His back was still bent slightly, his hands hanging loosely at his sides, the white flames where his eyes should be flickering like dying candles.
But then the humming stopped, cut off as if the air had been sliced clean through. The thousands of eyeless beings remained still, their hollow sockets fixed on him. And then, like a puppet with its strings cut, he fell to his knees, collapsing onto the cold stone floor. One of his hands clutched his face, covering his face, while the other dug into his chest, fingers curling as if to rip something out.
The void faded out, revealing Ash's face beneath it. His eyes wide in horror. His teeth clenched, grinding against each other. His body shook, his muscles locking up. For a moment, just a fragment of time, he felt like he was drowning in it. His hands pressed harder, clawing at his face and chest.
He looked up, eyes darting around the colosseum. The eyeless beings were still there. Ash stayed on his knees, his eyes locked on the endless rows of eyeless watchers.
And then, with a sudden, violent snap, the void consumed his face again entirely. The white flames roared to life, and the void lifted his head to face the Demigods.