DEATH DAWN
Before thunder ruled the sky…
Before Olympus crowned its king…
Before mortals learned to pray…
There was a weapon the gods feared to name.
Nemur.
He was not born like gods.
He was not shaped like mortals.
He was made.
Forged by the elder deities who existed before light, Nemur was created from the first shadow cast at the beginning of time. They gave him wings stitched from night, eyes lit with the ashes of dying stars, and a voice that sounded like graves opening.
He had no soul.
No will.
No mercy.
Only a command carved into his existence:
Kill Zeus.
For ages Nemur hunted the King of Olympus.
Whenever lightning split the sky — Nemur watched.
Whenever thunder roared — Nemur listened.
Whenever clouds gathered — Nemur descended.
Zeus learned quickly.
You could not fight Nemur.
You could only escape him.
The Day Heaven Trembled
Zeus stood upon the peak of Olympus, storm winds spiraling around him like a crown of living lightning. The sky was gold with divine light.
Then—
Darkness bled into it.
The sunlight dimmed, not because clouds covered it… but because something above them swallowed it whole.
A shadow unfolded across the heavens.
Wings.
Vast. Endless. Silent.
Nemur descended slowly, his presence bending the air, dimming the world, making even eternity hold its breath.
Zeus raised his arm, lightning forming in his palm.
"I know what you are," Zeus said, forcing courage into his voice. "A weapon."
Nemur's wings spread wider.
"I am the end," he replied.
Zeus hurled the lightning.
It struck Nemur's chest with a blast that split the sky open.
Mountains trembled. Oceans shuddered. The world flashed white.
When the light faded—
Nemur was still standing.
Unburned.
Unmoved.
Unimpressed.
Zeus' eyes widened.
Nemur stepped forward.
Each step made the sky darker.
Zeus roared and unleashed a storm unlike any before. Lightning rained endlessly. Thunder exploded like collapsing worlds. The very air tore apart under divine power.
Nemur walked through it.
The lightning touched him — and died.
The thunder struck him — and fell silent.
The storm itself began to weaken, as if fear had entered it.
Zeus staggered back.
"No…" he whispered.
Nemur raised his hand.
The storm froze.
Not slowed.
Frozen.
A single raindrop hung motionless in the air between them.
Nemur's fingers reached Zeus' chest.
And pressed.
Zeus screamed.
Not from pain.
From realization.
Something was leaving him.
His immortality.
Golden light poured from his body into Nemur's hand like liquid sunrise being stolen from the horizon.
"My life…!"
"Yes," Nemur said calmly. "It belongs to death."
Desperation ignited the king of gods.
With the last of his strength, Zeus struck the sky itself.
Reality cracked.
A blinding tear ripped open behind him, roaring with raw cosmic force.
Nemur tightened his grip—
But Zeus hurled himself backward into the rift.
It sealed instantly.
Silence fell across creation.
Nemur stood alone.
In his palm flickered a fragment of divine light — a piece of Zeus' stolen eternity.
It faded.
Gone.
Nemur tilted his head slightly.
"He escaped."
The words echoed like a funeral bell across the heavens.
High above existence, the elder gods trembled.
Their perfect killer had failed.
And worse—
He had spoken without being commanded.
Nemur unfolded his wings.
Darkness swallowed the sky.
"I will finish it," he whispered.
Since that day, thunder has never sounded proud again.
It sounds afraid.
Because somewhere beyond the clouds…
Zeus is still running.
And Nemur —
the shadow of the final dawn —
is still hunting.