There were names that history tried to forget.
Not because they were unknown—
—but because remembering them meant accepting that everything ends.
They were called the Destroyers.
Not a faction.
Not a race.
They were embodiments—walking conclusions given will.
Finality.
Annihilation.
The last breath of worlds.
Where they walked, timelines collapsed inward. Where they ruled, even gods learned fear.
At their center sat Nullivar.
The one who ended endings.
The one who stood after silence.
And now—because of the Endless Abyss—
he had summoned the only beings who could stand on the same board as him.
The gathering place was not a realm.
It was the absence between realms—a dead coordinate where reality refused to stabilize. No stars. No floor. Only a circular platform of black stone suspended over nothing.
The air trembled.
The first vessel descended.
A rift split open and Darian, Monarch of Monsters, emerged—his presence warping into countless bestial silhouettes layered atop one another. Horns. Fangs. Wings. Too many to count.
He said nothing. Just took his place.
Next—
A pale radiance unfolded, gentle yet absolute.
Silas, Monarch of the Beginning.
Where he stepped, something wanted to start again. Creation itched around him, as if hoping he'd look its way.
Then—
A shadow twisted sideways.
Belias arrived.
No title spoken.
No aura explained.
Only a pressure that made even Darian's monsters recoil.
Wrath arrived screaming.
The space ruptured as Cyclops, Monarch of Wrath, slammed into existence like a falling star, single blazing eye locked forward, arms crossed as if daring the void itself to speak first.
Decay followed.
Aseir, Monarch of Decay, drifted in quietly, his presence corroding the edges of reality, time peeling like rust around him.
Fire came next.
Ivis, Monarch of Flames, arrived laughing, embers rolling off her like sparks from a bonfire. She stretched casually, as if this were a tavern meet-up instead of a cosmic tribunal.
Ice answered flame.
Kiandrae, Monarch of Ice, manifested without sound—frost crystallizing instantly in midair, expression unreadable, eyes colder than extinction.
Then came the end that was not negotiable.
Asura, Monarch of End.
No theatrics. No buildup.
He simply was.
And everything understood that if he moved, something would stop forever.
Life bloomed strangely after.
Green light spiraled outward as Axel, Monarch of Evergreen, appeared—roots and leaves phantom-wrapped around his vessel, life persisting stubbornly even here.
One seat remained empty.
The throne.
A chair formed—not summoned, but acknowledged.
Thick, ancient, draconic in design.
Then—
The void bent.
A pressure slammed down so hard the platform cracked.
A massive draconic silhouette phased into being before compressing into a humanoid form and settling into the chair with deliberate slowness.
Kratos Dragonic.
Monarch of Finality.
One of the strongest.
He crossed his legs, rested his arm on the chair's side, and looked directly at Nullivar.
"Nullivar," Kratos said casually, voice like grinding continents,
"don't assume I'm under you."
Silence rippled outward.
"Where do you get the nerve to summon me?" he continued. "If this wasn't about the Abyss, I wouldn't have even answered."
Nullivar's presence shifted.
Irritation bled through his control.
"Watch your manners, Kratos," Nullivar said coldly. "I would hate to send you to eternal rest."
For a moment—
Nothing moved.
Then Kratos laughed.
A deep, thunderous sound that echoed into nonexistence.
"I bet," he said, grin sharp, "you wouldn't say that to the Monarch of the Endless Abyss."
His eyes gleamed.
"Don't forget—he's the only thing you will always fail to overpower."
Nullivar snapped.
"WATCH YOUR MOUTH!!"
The platform shook.
Flames flared.
And Ivis leaned back, hands behind her head, grinning.
"Man," she said, amused,
"can y'all be chill for a sec with no beefing?"
The silence that followed was heavy.
Because somewhere far away—
the Endless Abyss was awake.