The world had felt Oscar's awakening.
But it was not just the living who stirred.
Deep beneath the continent of Narthalos, within the ruined catacombs of a forgotten civilization, a pulse echoed. Rhythmic. Slow. Ancient.
Thump.
Thump.
With each beat, the seals placed eons ago layer upon layer of divine, demonic, and elemental wards began to crack.
Inside a cocoon of obsidian and bone, a single eye opened.
Violet and starless.
It had no name.
Only a hunger.
The Dreamer has returned, it thought. Then I… must wake.
Stone groaned. Bones split. A skeletal hand pushed through the tomb, dragging the slumbering nightmare into the waking world once more.
Abyssal Citadel – The War Council
Ethan, now fully immersed in his evolved abyssal form, stood before his gathered lieutenants. The citadel had grown again black towers stretched into the sky like grasping fingers, and beneath them, the abyss pulsed with life.
Selene approached first, bowing her head.
"The rift gates are stable. We can now link the Outlands directly to the Eastern Realms. Resistance is minimal."
Darius stepped forward, armored in blackened plate that dripped with echoing shadows. "The Seraphim Knights remain active in the Radiant Bastion. They've summoned a 'Saint-Weapon'. I've dispatched scouts, but…"
Ethan's expression remained calm. "Let them gather."
He raised his hand, and from the swirling void above the throne room, threads of existence unraveled. New pathways were opening realms that hadn't been touched since the first Dream.
He could see them.
Not just nations but possibilities.
Timelines. Futures. Variants.
And in each one… he was there.
Changing everything.
Radiant Bastion – The Light's Last Wall
High above the mountains of Seraphiel, the Radiant Bastion gleamed like a star fallen to earth. A final sanctuary of the gods.
Within its inner sanctum, Saint Helena knelt before the Mirror of Grace.
Behind her stood the last of the Seraphim Knights armored in light, bearing weapons forged from sunfire and oathsteel.
"He's awakening something beyond us," Helena whispered, eyes locked to the mirror.
In its reflection, she did not see herself.
She saw Oscar.
The Throne behind him.
The abyss inside him.
And the dream unfurling.
"He must be stopped," one knight growled. "He is no longer a man."
Helena stood.
"Then we must become more than saints."
Her halo ignited.
"We become executioners of the divine."
Elsewhere – Watching Eyes
On the shattered moon of Vael-Tor, eyes blinked open.
Massive.
Endless.
They turned toward the world below.
"He dreams again," a voice like grinding stone echoed.
"Then the cycle begins anew," whispered another.
High above, the stars shifted.
And one by one, they began to fall.
The Throne of Echoes
The abyss was no longer confined.
It stretched through the veins of the world like ink in water, threading its influence into stone, air, and even memory. Mountains wept shadows. Forests whispered Ethan's name. Oceans churned with whispers from the deep.
And at the heart of it all stood Oscar, atop the Throne of Echoes.
The throne was not built it had grown. Formed from the countless echoes of every soul the abyss had touched. Their regrets, their hatred, their despair woven into a seat of impossible power.
Oscar sat unmoving.
Eyes shut.
Listening.
The world breathed, and he breathed with it.
He no longer needed to speak.
The abyss obeyed his will.
Far West – The Broken Realms
In the distant west, where cities once floated among clouds and magic ran wild and untamed, the sky split.
A tear.
A wound.
The Old Magic that had been locked away the primal forces from the Time Before began to stir. Wyrm-kings clawed their way out of forgotten skies. Mountains collapsed into yawning craters as forgotten titans blinked awake.
All because one man had awakened the Dream.
Oscar's awakening had broken more than balance it had shattered containment.
Abyssal Citadel – The New General
Aldric knelt before Oscar, changed.
Where once stood a holy knight adorned in silver and gold, now knelt a harbinger of contradiction divine light wrapped in abyssal shadow. A fallen paladin reborn through corruption, his soul still burning with remnants of faith.
Oscar opened his eyes.
"You walked between light and shadow," he said. "And you survived."
Aldric looked up, voice steady. "The gods do not answer. But you do. And the abyss? It listens."
Oscar rose from the Throne.
"Then rise, Aldric. You are no longer a knight."
A pulse echoed from the abyss.
"You are the Herald of Silence. The voice of the abyss, given shape."
Aldric's shadow rose behind him, enormous and winged, carrying blades of sorrow and fire.
And far to the east, a prophet screamed her visions shattered by the power that had just been born.
Elsewhere – The Gathering of the Forsaken
Beneath the world, in the ruins of a time no one remembered, seven figures gathered.
They had no names anymore.
Only titles.
The First Blasphemer. The Bound Queen. The Archivist of Ashes. The Blind Seer. The Betrayer. The Hollow Saint.
And now…
A seventh seat, long vacant, shimmered with lightless energy.
"He has taken the Throne," said the Hollow Saint, her mouth stitched shut yet somehow speaking.
The First Blasphemer smiled a grin made of teeth not meant for mortal flesh.
"Then our king walks among us once more."
They knelt, in silence, to a presence that was not there yet had always been there.
To Oscar.
To the Dreamer of the End.
The Hollow Procession
The air trembled.
Far from the Abyssal Citadel, across fractured kingdoms and ruined empires, the Hollow Procession began to march.
No drums.
No banners.
No life.
Just silence.
A parade of the lost knights without faces, priests without tongues, children clutching the remnants of innocence long devoured. Once men and women of faith, loyalty, love now reduced to husks wrapped in the abyss's mercy. They did not speak. They did not breathe.
They simply walked.
Behind them, the sky dulled, turning from blue to gray to black.
Forests wilted. Rivers stilled. Birds fell from the air.
At the front of this haunting parade walked Selene, her eyes burning brighter than ever. Her armor had grown darker, forged anew by Oscar himself. Veins of abyssal crystal laced through the steel alive, pulsing with memory and death.
Beside her strode Darius, now known only as The Gatebreaker. His hands could shatter divine barriers. His presence shattered morale.
Every step they took was a prophecy fulfilled.
And they were heading north to the last bastion of Light.
Kingdom of Everlight – The Final Bastion
Everlight had once been a haven.
A city untouched by war. A sanctum raised by gods and protected by generations of angelborn.
Now, its spires glowed with anxious fervor, its temples crowded with refugees and trembling prayers.
High Priestess Lysara stood atop the Beacon Tower, staring into the distance.
"They're coming."
Her voice cracked as she clutched her relic a staff older than the kingdom itself.
Beside her stood The Seraphim Knights six warriors of living flame and divine power, their wings unfolded, blades of light humming.
"They are more than monsters now," Lysara said. "They are purpose."
"And we are the last Light left in the world."
The Abyssal Citadel – Ethan's Return
Oscar stood beneath the Black Spire, where the core of the abyss pulsed with chaotic divinity.
He extended his hand, and from the shadows, Ethan stepped forth once more.
His form had changed.
Where once he was a man wielding power, now he was power. His body shimmered with abyssal light. His voice carried the weight of ten thousand souls.
"The Procession has begun," Oscar said.
Ethan nodded.
"I will lead them to the gates."
Oscar studied him. "And if they resist?"
Ethan's smile was the cold edge of inevitability.
"Then we show them what it means to resist the Dream."
Underground – The Child Prophet
In the deepest corner of the world, a girl no older than ten opened her eyes.
She had been blind since birth.
But now now she saw.
Her eyes glowed with violet fire as she whispered in the language of the old gods.
"They've awakened the Sleeper Who Wasn't Meant to Wake…"
The monks trembled.
"What do you see?" they begged.
Her voice echoed with terrifying clarity.
"The world is ending."
"But it's not dying."
"It's being rewritten."