The world trembled beneath the weight of Nyx's descent. High above the crumbling cities and shattered remnants of civilization, the skies swirled with dark clouds, as though the heavens themselves recoiled in fear of what was coming. A silence swept over the land, a collective breath held as the figures of Nyx and her darkened form took center stage in the cosmos above. The moment felt like a stillness before a storm, the air thick with anticipation and dread.
On the ground, scattered groups of survivors and heroes, those still clinging to hope amidst the apocalypse, looked up in a unified gaze. Faces, once full of determination and resolve, now reflected shock, disbelief, and confusion. They had seen her before—this goddess of the abyss who once fought for their cause. Her name was once whispered with reverence, a symbol of defiance against the encroaching darkness. But now, as she descended, those same heroes trembled.
Soren, a towering warrior clad in battered armor, his sword resting heavily at his side, was the first to react. His jaw clenched so tightly that his teeth ground together. His eyes widened in recognition, but not with the warmth of camaraderie. No. He could see it now—the abyssal aura surrounding her, the rage and darkness in her every movement. His breath caught in his throat, a mix of dread and sorrow filling him. "Nyx..." His voice cracked, barely above a whisper, as if the name itself had become a curse.
Beside him, Kaela, a mage who had once studied alongside Nyx, staggered back, her hands shaking as she reached for her staff. The usually composed woman now appeared utterly rattled, her face pale, her lips trembling. She had seen Nyx's power before, but this... this was different. The light in Nyx's eyes, once kind and warm, was now a furious fire that seemed to burn through everything in its path. "No... this isn't who she was," Kaela murmured, almost as though she was trying to convince herself. But the cold reality of the abyssal figure now descending was too much. She trembled, eyes filling with tears, though none of the others dared to cry.
In the distance, a young hero named Thorne, who had once trained under Nyx's guidance, gripped the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white. His chest tightened with the weight of what he was seeing. "How could this happen?" he breathed, almost in a state of disbelief, his voice cracking under the pressure. His legs wavered, his body unwilling to move, as if his mind couldn't catch up with the horror unfolding before him. The figure of Nyx had once been a mentor, a symbol of hope. Now, she was the harbinger of doom.
Above the horizon, Nyx's shadow stretched long, her crimson eyes glowing with the promise of destruction. The swirling abyss around her deepened, devouring the light that had once symbolized her. Every movement she made, every flicker of her aura, felt like a death sentence to those below. And yet, as she descended, the realization spread like wildfire—this was the woman who had once fought for them. Who had once stood against the encroaching darkness. Now, she was the very darkness they feared.
The heroes, the survivors, all faced the same truth, whether they dared to acknowledge it or not. Nyx was no longer one of them. She was a force of nature—unpredictable, unstoppable—and the world would bend beneath her wrath. The once-bright future they had fought so hard for had crumbled. And now, Nyx was the final nail in the coffin.
Aveline's words echoed through the hearts of a few.
"Vengeance may soothe you for a time... but it is not the same as peace."
Those words hung heavy in the air, but they were drowned by the sound of Nyx's descent—her final act of defiance against a world that had forsaken her. The final reckoning had begun.