Erevas was now in a dark, depthless space, a place without sound, without shape, without even the comfort of shadows.
Just nothing.
He drifted there like a lost soul, weightless and directionless.
"Is this… supposed to be heaven?" he muttered.
No echo.
No response.
Not even a whisper returning to him.
The silence was so absolute it felt alive.
He floated for what felt like an hour—maybe longer, maybe shorter; time didn't exist here—until a sudden burst of light flared in the void.
Blinding and…wrong?
The light twisted, coiled, and slowly took form.
A towering silhouette.
A familiar outline.
An ancient presence.
It solidified into the body shape of Kalanthos.
Erevas's eyes widened.
Because Kalanthos was dead.
He had killed Kalanthos.
Killed him alongside those traitors who turned their blades on him.
So how… how was he standing here?
Erevas's voice cracked.
"...Kalanthos…?"
"Wrong, strong one."
The silhouette's voice rumbled like a collapsing star, layered and echoing, too vast to belong to anything mortal.
It wasn't Kalanthos's voice at all.
"I am the Monarch of Destruction. Kalanthos was merely a vessel—useful and disposable. But that is irrelevant."
Erevas stiffened.
A monarch? Of what? Of who?
What kind of being could puppeteer something like Kalanthos?
"Monarch… what's that supposed to mean?" Erevas asked, cautious, every nerve pulled tight.
The silhouette tilted its head slightly, the light around it cracking like fractured glass.
"I will not answer that," it said calmly. "You will understand in due time. But for now, hear this—"
The void trembled.
Erevas's chest tightened.
"I have an offer for you."
A sharp pause.
"You can't refuse it."
A deeper, darker pause.
"Literally."
"Become my vessel," the Monarch intoned, its voice rippling through the void like a command carved into reality itself.
"I will grant you power far beyond imagination—power to crush armies, shatter stars, and erase those who wronged you. With it, your revenge will be effortless."
It sounded too perfect.
Too convenient.
Too dangerous.
Erevas clenched his fists, teeth grinding.
"But I'm dead, you shit," he snarled. "How the hell am I supposed to take revenge from a damn void? I'm ashes!"
The Monarch let out a low, amused hum—almost like laughter, but far too ancient and violent to be human.
"Death?" it said.
"You misunderstand."
The void shook, cracking open with ribbons of red light.
"Your body died," the Monarch continued, "but your soul refuses to yield. That defiance is why I chose you. You will return—reborn, regressed, restored. Call it whatever you wish."
The silhouette leaned closer, its features still hidden, its presence suffocating.
"All you must do… is say yes."
"Sounds to suspicious, like those scammer ads that promise great rewards but in return it wants you to suffer greatly." Erevas said holding his chin.
"What do you want in return. I know it's not just being a vessel." Erevas asked with a curious tone.
It really was fishy, a being as high as him to say he'd regress Erevas, only wants him as a vessel or unless being the vessel is enough which is very doubtful. He has grander schemes in plan.
The Monarch chuckled—an echoing, grinding sound like mountains collapsing.
"Suspicious?"
Its silhouette tilted its head, almost amused.
"You have instincts, at least. Good. A fool would've accepted immediately."
Erevas narrowed his eyes. "Then answer the damn question. What do you want in return? I know it's not just 'be my vessel.' Nothing is ever that simple."
The light around the Monarch dimmed, shifting into a deeper, blood–red glow.
"Correct," it said. "Being my vessel is not the price. It is merely the condition that allows you to live."
Erevas felt his stomach sink.
The Monarch continued:
"What I want… is much smaller yet far greater."
It raised a hand, and the void around them warped—showing visions of crumbling worlds, fallen gods, and titanic shadows devouring entire realms.
"I want you," the Monarch said softly, "to survive."
Erevas blinked. "Survive? That's it? That's your big demand?"
"Yes."
The Monarch's voice sharpened, suddenly deadly serious.
"You will live. You will grow. You will fight. And eventually—inevitably—you will be strong enough to contain all of me."
Ah. There it was.
The real plan.
Erevas inhaled sharply. "…So the goal isn't revenge. It's using me as a bottle to store a ticking cosmic nuke."
The Monarch's grin could be felt, not seen.
"Precisely."
"And if I refuse?" Erevas hissed.
"Then your soul breaks apart, scatters, and vanishes forever. No afterlife. No rebirth. No revenge. Just oblivion."
The void pulsed, sealing the moment.
"So," the Monarch whispered,
"is survival worth the price of becoming my eventual cage?"
"Whatever," Erevas said. "I accept. But know this—if I survive somehow, I'll rise, kill you, and replace you."
He grinned viciously.
The Monarch laughed, a deep, echoing sound that shook the void.
"Amusing."
Then—
SNAP.
A sound without sound. A command woven into reality's bones.
The darkness cracked like shattered glass, and all at once gravity, breath, flesh, pain, and consciousness slammed into Erevas like a tidal wave.
His eyes shot open.
He was falling—no, slamming—into a physical body.
A heartbeat thundered.
Air rushed into lungs that hadn't existed a moment ago.
Blood roared through veins like molten metal.
And then—
BAM!
He hit a wooden floor, choking on the sudden jolt of life.
A filthy room.
Rotten curtains.
A half–broken fan spinning above him.
And the reek of sweat and mold thick in the air.
It was a body—weak, trembling—yet unmistakably alive.
Erevas coughed, spat, and dragged himself upright, the Monarch's last echo whispering in his skull:
"Live."
He opened his eyes fully.
And what stared back at him from a cracked mirror across the room…
was not the Monarch.
It was a teenager—thin, bruised, fearful—face pale with shock.
Erevas blinked.
"…Well. Shit."