God of Nothing

Rayse sat there, resting and waiting for his wounds to heal. He had run out of potions long ago such that his only option for recovery was to wait it out. It was a good thing he was able to absorb the herald’s mana, however little he had in comparison. As he sat there, he recognized Agony’s deep green mana oozing from his wounds, particularly in places where he was cut by his weird weapons. He breathed in, taking in this mana as well, and immediately felt better. His wounds began to knit faster than before, to a degree that looked like he had used potions on them.

He looked at it in awe, taking in just how much his power had grown. He did just take in a good portion of a herald’s mana just now, but he felt it during the battle too. His physique had been growing in real time. He chalked it up to his anger elevating his strength temporarily, but was that really the case? Or is it the constant battles allowing him to repeatedly overcome his limits? Once again he dearly wished to be able to use the power he had amassed in his mana heart for more than just improving his physical ability.

Rayse’s eyes drifted from the wounds to the herald, and finally to its tools, now sensing the same mana he had just taken in from the devilish implements. He tugged with his mind, and a rusted kitchen knife flew into his hand. 

“Hooh.” 

He had been unable to manipulate them the entire fight, but now, he felt a connection with them.

This day was just full of surprises.

__________________________________

Satanael stopped her assault, turning sharply upwards, as the entire mountain shook. 

Aleph stood there, resplendent in his golden exosuit, each synthetic fiber bursting with power. This was his trump card, one where he spent almost the entire month preparing. He had poured all the mithril he could get his hands on into a reforging of his equipment precisely for this purpose. Although dragon hearts and such levels of materials were sadly unavailable, Oblivion's soul manipulation gave him an idea. Now he stood there in the realization of such ideals, wearing equipment that had fooled itself into thinking they were a dragon. He didn’t fully understand the process, but, as he felt his connection dragon heart, he understood that it was his, the very same one he had fought to the end with, making these the same one that dealt a critical blow to Erebos’ previous avatar.

He expected an end to this long fight, a final clash to determine the victor. He was prepared to put it all on the line, kill this demon king, and prevent Erebos’ descent to the world of man.

But what was this? Contrary to her mental transmission, Satanel wasn’t even looking at him, and was instead staring up at the sky. Even her aggression stopped being directed at him.

“What’s wrong?” He asked aloud. He couldn’t help it.

The worst has come to pass, godling. We must away.

With that said, the demon king opened up another portal, and went right through.

__________________________________

Vaynard had no thoughts, no aspirations, no desire.

Well, that last part wasn’t true. He did have one. Something he had dreamed of ever since he took the crown.

Kill the demon king.

And so he lay there, practically dead, soul aching for one final shot. Superbia loomed over him, mirror images twisted in similar states of ecstacy, proclaiming their victory over the world.

But his bloodline wasn’t renowned for its resiliency for nothing. Just before he expired, he casted a wordless spell, one that would command the mana in the air to return to him, giving him one final burst of power. 

Whoooosh!

A gust of wind passed through the darkness, rushing into Vaynard’s corpse. He opened his eyes and stood, fully mobile and ready to end things.

“What dark magic do you wield, human?” Superbia asked, his dread pleasingly palpable even for the King’s half dead self.

“Speak, for yourself.” Vaynard gasped back. He didn’t have time for anything wittier, not in his current state. He dug his hand into his belt pouch, pulling out a tiny box. Jets of water came at him from multiple directions, at such speeds that turned him into mush. He refused to fall, though, and instead drew his blade, engulfing the world in red. He drank in Rage’s power, hoping it would help him finish things. He used the tip of his blade to pry open the box, and drop the contents to the ground.

“Like I said. Finished.” He said again, before everything was wrapped in a sea of white. The small world where Vaynard stood was blanketed in enormous pressure. It was a power that even he couldn’t hope to survive and, hopefully, not one that Superbia would, either. Vaynard primed the device as much as he could before dropping it into the earth. He then leapt back, trying to escape the ‘gift’s’ massive range, only to find himself facing a multitude of Superbia.

““YOU!”” They all said simultaneously. It seems that the demon king felt their end, and as a last act of defiance, hoped to bring him down with it.

They attacked fiercely, and each one could end his life now if they strike. That was when Vaynard truly felt it for the first time: The specter of death, come to take his soul. He turned, cutting everything in the vicinity with Rage’s Blade, before fleeing with everything left in his feeble body. He lacked mana, and his mana heart has shattered. Even with his regeneration, it would take him a long while to recover.

So he ran, reaching the edge of the stone platform. He had no idea how he would cross the water barrier, being reduced to such a state, but he took a gamble. He leapt off, crossing his arms as he tried to dive, preparing to swim if he had to. The water tingled at his touch, and it even glowed a bit, but with Rage still in effect, Vaynard barely even felt it.

“Coward!” Superbia’s angry voice drilled itself into him, heedless of the fluid’s ability to muddle its speech. “What did you do!”

He longed to respond, to bask in the pleasure of flustering this godlike being, but he settled for being able to take its life. He briefly looked up, reassuring himself that he really did do just that. The white beacon had significantly dimmed, which could only mean it had began to dig through the stone. Hell, he could feel it sink at an even faster rate than he did. His diving momentum all but stopped, Vaynard put his all into swimming downwards, eager to break through to the empty sky below and hopefully to safety.

He felt the resistance shining through from the waters of Superbia, as if it were alive. It pulled him back to where he was, like if the waves of the sea only flowed inland. 

Desperate, Vaynard loosed a few good slashes, redirecting the fluid enough to move him a little, but alas, it was simply too powerful.

He didn’t stop trying though, as he knew that any other choice would have him die, either by the demon’s hand or his own. In the end, he inched forward slowly, surrounded in a sea of electricity as the demon king amped it up.

He found it increasingly hard to keep a hand on his weapon, feeling his own body break down. Rage’s abilities may have helped him ignore the pain, but his broken down body was physically impossible to circumvent.

Splash!

He was about to lose hope when a golden flash erupted from his feet. It beelined to him like a blazing dragon, looping around to carry him as it helped him escape.

“A-Aleph?” He asked, disoriented and lightheaded, as his eyes began to adjust.

“I’m here, Lord Vaynard.” His friend replied. “Good work.”

Aleph maneuvered skillfully away from the jets of water that attacked them, until finally the pair was back on the ground. Vaynard felt himself being laid out on the ground, but all he could look at was the emerging white peering out from within  the black star up above. The light grew more and more until it completely overcame the murky waters.

From where he lay, it looked like the sun.

Flash!!

Once more did the fake dusk become overtaken by a bright light. Superbia’s realm was swallowed up by the light from Aleph’s gift, engulfing the being completely in an almost holy light. 

And then, nothing. Vaynard had to blink a few times to take the spots out of his eyes, but yes, Superbia’s vessel had completely vanished. Such was the power of the implosion core. Vaynard could see why he was the one given such a powerful device as he was the only one able to survive being so close to it. He looked down on his own broken body, the bulk of which had almost withered to nothing. He marveled at the miracle that had allowed him to escape. Aleph was drowning him with potions, but they both knew that the absence of his mana heart rendered it moot. Still, as the Rage blade’s effects withdrew from him, the potions’ warmth replaced it.

“H-how did you do it?” Vaynard heard his friend speak. Aleph’s voice shook, a surprising show of emotion. Despite himself, a smile tugged from the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah. Took me a while to figure it out, though.” He boasted. It was quite a puzzle too, as he couldn’t feel the demon’s power from the water surrounding the stone throne, but only from the ones that had dropped down from above. It took that and remembering the clashing energies of the previous month for him to figure out. Lost and Superbia had famously crossed blades at some point, with Lost herself attacking the colossal floating structure. 

Unlike her, he couldn’t have brought about enough power to destroy this demon if not for Aleph’s gift.

“The bastard’s constructs felt hollow, somehow. It was only when I detected life energy oozing out of the floor that it hit me. Ohhh, you shoulda seen me handle him, though. He gave me his best shot, reduced me almost to death, but I got him, Aleph. I did…”

Vaynard closed his eyes contentedly, regaling Aleph with his exploits. He spoke well after his eyes shut, until he took his final breath. Aleph gently set him down again, stopping the treatment completely. His shoulders shuddered, covering his friend in a blanket of earth. He fashioned a stone etching and set it on his head that read: Here lay Vaynard, the last King of man.