The cold water of the lake embraced the mass of darkness that was Uriel, wrapped around the Cursed Terror along with a mass of white flames that both healed and burned the fallen deity. The contrast was unbearable: the cold of the ancestral waters against the heat of divine flames, the darkness of his being against Nephis's purifying light.
Every fiber of his existence screamed in agony as his will clung to the Terror like a hunting dog that refuses to release its jaw.
The instant the water and white flames made contact, the lake began to evaporate in enormous waves of hot steam that rose like the sighs of a dying world. The mist was so dense it obscured the sky, creating a white hell where only the sound of clashing wills broke the silence.
A reaping light forced Uriel to rely solely on his combat experience. All his eyes remained closed to avoid drying out; he could only feel the presence of the Vile Bird through vibrations in the fabric of reality, along with the other two Supremes moving like twin storms around him. The light wasn't natural—it was the fury of a dying sun, the cry of a star that had been stolen and now demanded vengeance.
The Cursed Terror plummeted even faster, reaching near-luminal speeds. It crashed against the water's surface, causing the fragile flow of time to finally shatter.
The impact created a shockwave that tore space itself apart, opening a wound in reality that bled fragments of forgotten moments.
Everything broke. Time and space lost their order, creating fragments of cracks in reality that flickered like the eyelids of a convulsing god. Visions of alternative pasts and impossible futures seeped through the fissures: civilizations that never existed, battles that hadn't yet occurred, deaths that had never happened.
The four plunged into one of the cracks, traveling to a distant place in the fabric of time. The sensation was nauseating—like being stretched in all directions simultaneously while being crushed into a single point.
The screams of the four titans resonated through the void between moments, a chorus of desperation that shook the foundations of reality.
Soon, time returned to normal. The reaping light disappeared, replaced by the blue light of a tranquil sky illuminated by seven divine suns that shone with serene and eternal intensity. The calm was so abrupt it hurt, like a lash after chaos.
Uriel used one of his eyes to see his surroundings. He observed the City of Seekers, still unprofaned. All its inhabitants were alive and well, going about their lives unaware that the end of the world loomed over them. He saw a child chasing a butterfly, an old man sitting on a bench reading a book, two lovers kissing beneath the shade of an ancient tree. Scenes of peace that would be shattered in an instant.
They all stood frozen as they pointed to the sky, where an immeasurable mass of darkness began to stain the heavens with night, leaving in its wake a trail of scorched black feathers, black blood, and devastation. The sun was eclipsed—not by a natural eclipse, but by the presence of something that did not belong to this time, this world.
Uriel felt the Vile Bird's claws stab his soul, sending him into a world of pain. The suffering was so intense that his thoughts fragmented into pieces of pure agony. Each claw was a memory of loss, each wound a scar on his deepest being. He felt his essence tear apart, the layers of his soul peeling like the skin of an onion.
In return, he manifested hundreds of enormous maws that bit into the Cursed Terror's flesh, extracting chunks of meat and black blood that glowed with a malevolent radiance. His jaws closed with the force of a collapsing world, tearing pieces from the fallen deity that writhed in pain. At the same time, Sunny's mass of shadows did the same, while Nephis's white flames continued burning the bird's enormous body.
The Terror shrieked, and the sound shattered windows in the city behind them, and people fell to the ground with their hands over their ears, bleeding from them. The scream was death itself made sound.
A moment later, a crack opened in the blue sky, which they passed through, leaving the City of Seekers behind. The last image Uriel had of them was that of a child still looking at the sky, his eyes reflecting the darkness that carried away the titans fighting for their destiny.
The perspective shifted. They were in the future, thousands of years later, with the suns still intact, not yet stolen. The city was gone: only ruins, only dust, only the memory of what had been. Then they passed to another crack, and then another. Reality unraveled in their wake, leaving a trail of paradoxes that no god could repair.
Day and night mingled during the fierce battle. Everywhere they arrived, they left a trail of destruction and shattered reality. Entire cities disintegrated in the wind of their clashes. Mountains split like cookies. Oceans evaporated. The world bled beneath their feet, and they could not stop.
Yet no one paid attention to that. Uriel continued his fight against the Cursed Terror, using his entire being to inflict constant wounds upon the Terror.
His body was an arsenal of pain and fury, every muscle of his dark form screaming for vengeance. He wasn't just fighting for his life—he fought for Shade, for every soul the Thieving Bird had stolen, for every moment of happiness that had been ripped from the world.
The Vile Thieving Bird shrieked and wailed, wounding all three with its claws, wings, and beak.
Each attack was a cataclysm: a claw that tore open the sky, a wingbeat that created hurricanes, a peck that pierced time itself. Its fury was that of a cornered god, the desperation of a thief watching his treasure slip through his fingers.
The battle was fatal, pushing them constantly to the limit between life and death. Uriel felt his soul cracking with each impact, his will wearing thin like a rope stretched to its breaking point. But he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. If he stopped, Shade would be lost forever. If he stopped, everything he had built would crumble like a house of cards.
He invented new ways to use his aspect, each more desperate than the last.
He created lances of darkness that pierced the bird's soul, chains of darkness that bound it to the present, maws that devoured its will. There was no limit to his creativity, no end to his determination. Each new attack was a gamble, a risk to his own integrity in exchange for a wound on his enemy.
White flames enveloped the Thieving Bird, and it was in turn enveloped by an enormous shadow, followed by deep, impenetrable darkness. Light and shadow empowered each other due to their relationships, while darkness—the complete absence of light—was entirely different. It was the primordial void, the silence before the first sound, the nothingness that preceded everything.
Although the flames didn't damage or dissipate it, they couldn't heal its wounds. Every scar on its body was permanent, every crack in its will was a victory for the titans. Slowly, very slowly, the Cursed Terror was being overcome.
As the incarnations fought, the four wills clashed. Three of them holding back and slowly surpassing the Cursed Terror, whose will still outmatched them. But the gap was narrowing. Each second of combat, each wound inflicted, brought the moment of victory closer.
Uriel's will was a torrent of darkness and determination. Nephis's, a conflagration of light and purity. Sunny's, a shadow of cunning and vengeance. Together, they formed a triumvirate of destruction that made the divine thief stagger.
Uriel, Nephis, and Sunny, clinging to the Cursed Terror's body, streaked across the skies at lightning speeds. The wind was so intense it peeled the flesh from their bones, but none let go. They were stuck to the Terror like leeches, draining its life force, tearing away its will.
An instant later, they passed through a fissure in reality, leaving behind the reaping light of day to find themselves within the Great River. Their clashes sent thousands of tons of water surging to the surface like enormous geysers that touched the sky. The water was so ancient it remembered the birth of the world, and its waves carried echoes of forgotten songs.
Suddenly, they were surrounded by absolute darkness with calm waters stretching to the horizon. Directly ahead of them was a floating island several kilometers wide, covered in forests that glowed with their own light. It was a bubble of peace amid chaos, a sanctuary soon to be profaned.
The four crashed into the island, destroying a large portion of its surface in unparalleled devastation. The impact created a crater several kilometers in diameter, and the shockwaves felled trees that had stood since before humans walked the earth.
A rain of debris fell upon the island, knocking down thousands of trees. They impacted against an enormous tower that was sent flying at great speed, destroying even more forested area. The tower was a monument to a forgotten civilization, and now lay in ruins, its purpose lost forever.
A moment later, they were elsewhere in time. The island had vanished, replaced by a crystal desert reflecting the light of a dying star.
The mass of flames moved away, taking a vague humanoid form that wielded an enormous, massive sword that descended upon the Cursed Terror. The sword was Nephis's will made fire, a weapon that could cut the very concept of existence.
The environment changed, finding themselves atop the shell of an enormous sea beast covered in mystical metal armor. The beast was as large as a mountain, its eyes the size of lakes.
Nephis swung her sword with titanic force. The Cursed Terror altered the world to avoid the fatal strike. Space distorted around it, creating a labyrinth of stolen alternative realities that deflected the blow.
Nephis missed her attack. The sword, now a ray of light, pierced the beast's enormous shell cleanly in two halves. The beast didn't even have time to roar; its death was instantaneous, its body split like a nut under a divine hammer. Golden blood spilled into the void, creating stars in its fall.
Before the great monster knew what had happened, it was already dead, and they found themselves in another place, toward a vast sky and a reaping light that hurt just to look at. The light was that of the Divine Suns, and it burned like the hatred of a betrayed god.
Uriel screamed from the pain of being burned. His body of darkness was beginning to disintegrate under the searing, hot light. He felt his form dissolving like sand in the wind, his will evaporating like water in the desert. Each second under that light was an eternity of torture, each instant a lesson in suffering.
Using the pain as a catalyst, he attacked the Cursed Terror with even more force. There was no limit to his fury; every wound on his being only added more fuel to the fire of his determination. He created claws of darkness that dug into the bird's soul, maws that devoured its flesh, chains that bound its will.
As they drew closer, Uriel knew they were approaching the Divine Suns. He could feel them—seven masses of primordial power shining with the light of a million souls. They were beautiful and terrifying, the physical manifestation of divinity itself.
The Vile Thieving Bird crashed into one of the suns, shattering it to pieces. The explosion was so intense it blinded the three titans, and a shockwave of cosmic proportions hurled them backward. Fragments of the sun fell like fiery meteors, each capable of destroying a world.
An intense heat began to consume Uriel. His soul was crumbling like a sandcastle under a relentless tide. The layers of his being peeled away one after another, exposing his core to the void.
If he continued at this pace, he would die in a matter of seconds.
He needed to do something.
Clenching his countless maws, he released the Cursed Terror. He completely released his Transcendent transformation: a mass of darkness covered the sky and the now six suns. He manifested enormous black tentacles that devoured the divine suns, sending them into his Dark Warehouse.
In a matter of instants, the six suns made from fragments of a Profane Titan's divine soul were stolen by him. The act was so violent it created a vacuum in the fabric of reality—a wound that would take millennia to heal.
But the effort was too much. Uriel felt his body tear apart, his will fracture. He was at his limit, and the Terror knew it.
The Thieving Bird seized the moment of weakness. A blow from its wing, charged with all the fury of a betrayed god, crashed into Uriel. The impact was like being struck by a moon, and his mass of darkness went flying like a cosmic projectile.
Uriel flew at full speed, returning to his human form. He passed through one of the cracks, and his body crashed against an enormous ship-island, causing an explosion that shattered its entire surface. The island's inhabitants were disintegrated instantly, their souls scattered like dust in the wind.
The impact created a crater several kilometers deep, and the ship-island began to sink slowly, carrying with it the remains of a civilization that would never have the chance to tell its story.
Uriel was out of the battle.
He lay at the bottom of the crater, his human body broken and bleeding. Every bone in his body was fractured, every muscle torn. His will, which had been an unstoppable torrent, was now a barely sustained thread.
But he wasn't dead.
He could still feel Shade, though faintly. He could still feel Nephis and Sunny fighting the Terror. He could still feel the hatred in his heart.
He rose slowly, ignoring the pain that screamed through every fiber of his being. It didn't matter that he was broken. It didn't matter that he was on the brink of death. As long as he could move, as long as he could breathe, as long as he could hate, he would keep fighting.
Shade would not be lost forever. The Cursed Terror would pay for every soul it had stolen. And Uriel, even if he had to crawl through hell itself, would see justice done.