Chapter 550: A Truth Older Than the Abyss

The chains seared her flesh, slowly melting her bones from her body as though there were no limits to what these golden flames could consume.

Alister’s expression did not waver. His voice came low, steady, resonant—like a god passing judgment.

"Perhaps you are right. Perhaps this is nothing more than a scrambled victory. Perhaps I do act all high and mighty, carrying myself as divine."

He smiled. Not kindly. Not cruelly. But with the certainty of one who had already stepped beyond the reach of fate.

"Perhaps," he said, "I do see myself as a being above existence."

The spears flared brighter. The chains constricted until the air around them shivered with heat. Eli’Erel screamed again, her voice breaking, wings thrashing violently as shadows splintered and withered away in the golden fire.

"This... doesn’t make sense!" she spat, her voice cracked, her throat raw. "Your strength... how does it keep increasing? You trample on the very foundations of our mythos! You are defying celestial law!"

Her scythe flickered weakly in her hands, its edge corroding under the weight of his radiance.

Alister tilted his hand. Light coalesced instantly, matter itself bending to his will. A golden sword materialized, impossibly vast, its edges dripping molten brilliance. He raised it high, lightning cracking in the storm above as if the heavens themselves awaited his decree.

"Defying celestial law is hardly a feat. After all... I am one half of the being that brought an end to the Celestials. That truth..."

"...is nothing new."

With those words, Eli’Erel’s eyes widened. Her lips trembled, voice breaking into a stutter.

"Y–You mean..."

Before she could finish, a low, rumbling laugh rolled across the battlefield.

The dragons present gave way, and Alameck stepped into view, his massive frame covered in gore, scales marred with streaks of blood that steamed in the rain. In one hand, he clutched something still dripping—a mangled, blackened heart, veins twitching faintly as though reluctant to die. He had already bitten into it, black ichor running down his jaw.

"Like I said, brother," Alameck chuckled, "you love making things dramatic."

He strode forward with ease, dragging his claw across the shattered stones, sparks flaring in his wake. His gaze drifted toward Eli’Erel, and his grin widened into something feral.

"Finish this already," he said, tone mocking yet edged with command. "Isn’t it your responsibility as the eldest... to lead by example? Look at me—I’ve already finished my prey before you."

He lifted the mangled heart slightly, as if in toast.

Eli’Erel’s voice cracked as she staggered against her bindings. "I—Is that from... one of my Apostles?"

For the first time, Alameck paused, feigning surprise. His eyes flicked to the heart in his hand. Then slowly, his lips curled into a cruel, amused smile.

"Indeed," he drawled. "And I must tell you... they did not disappoint. Their screams were most satisfying." His tone turned almost nostalgic. "Although... I did raise a barrier, so their sweet melodies wouldn’t disturb my brother. Apparently, he doesn’t enjoy causing suffering as much as I do. Pity."

He paused, looking up, then said:

"And I must tell you—" Alameck’s grin split wider, his teeth gleaming as his eyes burned with amusement. He leaned closer, holding the heart out where she could see every vein, every trembling twitch of fading life within it.

"They were delicious. I might very well make you abyss creatures my main meal for the next millennia... No..." he hissed, savoring each syllable, "make that a century. I’m a really gluttonous eater, after all. Did I mention I ripped it out while they were still alive as well? One... at... a... time. Their expressions of fear, helplessness, and dread were easily some of the best I’ve seen in this long life of mine. Truly spectacular!"

Eli’Erel’s scream tore through the air as Alameck raised the heart to his mouth again. He chewed deliberately, the sound wet, obscene, echoing in the storm.

"But you need not worry," he added, licking the black ichor from his claws. "I ate every part of them. I’m not one to waste my food, after all."

Eli’Erel’s chest heaved as the chains burned deeper, each searing pulse unraveling not just her body, but the foundations of her faith.

Both of them... defying celestial law?

Both of them trampling the mythos of the cosmos as if it were dust beneath their claws?

It was impossible. It was heresy. It was—

Her thoughts shattered, pulled back into memory.

She was kneeling. Cold stone beneath her knees, the floor slick with smoke and shadow. Before her, upon the elevated throne of obsidian, a man reclined. His face hidden by a skull of black bone, his very form veiled in coils of shadow so deep the eye could never quite trace their edges. His presence was suffocating—her Lord, her master, the Voice of the Abyss.

Oboros, the Usurper.

Her own voice had trembled then, careful, reverent.

"My Lord... why is it we pursue the dragons with such fervor? Why do we hunt them above all others?"

The figure stirred, shadows curling tighter. His voice came smooth, elegant, like velvet stretched across steel.

"Because, child, dragons are the only beings who may yet oppose us. The only true obstacle to the dawning of the new era."

Confusion had crossed her face that day, and she had dared to speak again, hesitance breaking through her devotion.

"But... I do not understand. We cull them every century. Their broods dwindle, their nests lie in ruin. How can remnants, slaughtered so often, rise to threaten us?"

The skull turned. Empty sockets burned with faint silver fire. And when he spoke again, it was with a single word, each syllable sharp enough to flay her soul.

"The Architect..."

She had faltered, breath stolen, before forcing the words from her lips.

"The... Architect of what, my Lord?"

His reply was slow, deliberate, yet it struck like a blade to the heart.

"The Architect of Celestial Death."

Her body had gone cold then—such was the sensation one felt at the mention of a Celestial title—though the shadows around her blazed with abyssal heat.

She had whispered, trembling: "I... I do not understand..."

The Lord’s hand rose, fingers curling like talons. The chamber quaked with the weight of his words.

"The Abyss devours. It consumes, it binds, it claims. Yet even we—" his tone sharpened, reverberating like a verdict across the dark hall, "—cannot stand above those who bore the curse of ending. Dragons are not mere beasts. They are the descendants of the beings who surpassed their creators."

He leaned forward, the skull mask lowering toward her as the final truth pierced her trembling heart.

"The day they awaken to this truth, child... the day they remember what they truly are... all of existence will be forced to its knees. And I, Oboros... bow to no one."