The Villain's Story

Her voice was… soothing, ancient, and gentle. It wasn’t something Alan expected, if he was being honest. His image of Ariel was that she was an extremely old dragon that was the embodiment of anger, forever chained in her desolate realm.

Every single time he met her, she was always in a bad mood, or went into a bad mood soon enough. He didn’t expect that old, angry dragon to have such a sweet and gentle voice. It was different from the voice that echoed in his mind at times, when she conversed with him.

He was taken aback, but quickly remembered to stop thinking about such a thing. Valus was able to read his mind; Ariel was definitely capable of more.

She revealed a small smirk underneath the veil, as if aware of it all. Alan shuddered, but she didn’t react as he expected. He suspected that Ariel was in a calm mood, where the effects of the curse weren’t as apparent.

Perhaps the first time he had ever seen her so… normal. Ariel stopped her advance, and the moment she did, the Black Realm shook. It was a slight tremor, one that almost nobody would notice.

But someone with enhanced senses would always notice it, furthermore, it appeared to have a mystical effect on him. His muscles relaxed, his fatigue disappeared as the tremors travelled from the ground to his body.

And then, from the ground of this black realm, a speck of white arose. Polished, cut, and refined pieces of white arose from the ground.

They formed a pathway, to the side were small pillars with peaceful ‘skulls’ at the top, an array of bones lined the pathway, embedded into it, leading to the end of it.

At the end was a simple throne, polished, cut, and clean. There were no skulls on this throne, nor were there any other ‘horrifying’ decorations. It was a normal throne, grand in its own way, but ultimately one that didn’t seem too special.

One would expect the throne of death to be full of rot and putrid pus, rotten flesh and broken bones, and a horrifying visage, but it was nothing like that. Nothing like it at all.

Ariel sat on it, her chin on her hand as she stared at Alan. Her veil came off, and her face was revealed. Half of it is bone, the muscles, skin, and flesh all having become it; the other half is supple, slightly red skin. Healthy skin. The left of it was bone, the right composed of flesh.

Her right eye was normal, like any other eye. A normal pupil, and encased within a black iris. On her left, in the eye socket, a blue fire was present.

“Congratulations on making it this far.”

She continued, as her eyes never left Alan’s small figure.

“Although all of this is an arrangement of someone whom my own daughter aided. I don’t particularly mind…

I don’t really care about it; what matters is that your family, whether you pass the final trial or not.”

‘Haha…’

Alan let out a dry chuckle, coming to an epiphany. Ariel was at the end of it all, at the end of James plan. She was the most crucial aspect, the final part that had to go right, or else it would all be for naught.

James could create a being like him, which was a Dragon, God Beast, Void Spawn, Demon, and Celestial. Still, it would all be for naught if Alan never reached the Mythical Realm, and it would all be for naught if he never developed a resistance to death, an affinity to it, the revival of House Chatan, and perhaps there was even more, more that Alan was unaware of. The deeper parts of his existence.

Dominatus could only do so much; it wasn’t perfect against everything. Dominatus would not act if Alan were killed normally before he reached the Mythical Realm, perhaps even after it, for his existence remained in the Weave. No change had been made in it, no threat existed.

Dominatus was not something that would stop Death, for Death is something even the Weave acknowledged; it is a crucial part of existence, therefore, Dominatus is at peace with it. Any acts to remove or harm Alan’s existence within the Weave trigger Dominatus; death does not.

Alan’s continued survival, under the threat of numerous transcended existences, the Abyss, and the Creator, depended on one singular entity, and that was Death, for only she could mend the one weakness of his existence. Only she could. James had managed to create the one thing the Creator could not, but even he could not touch Death, not truly.

And funnily enough, it all depended on a whim, on Ariel’s mood, a simple yes or no. If it were not, then all his preparations would be for naught. If she wished, Ariel could put an end to him; it would be easier than swatting a fly.

Dominatus would not act, for Death had long become a part of the Weave.

‘Yes or No.’

In the end, it was Ariel’s decision. The most important decision always belonged to her. That was simply the level of her existence, the might of it.

Ariel was Unique, among the children of Vorden, she was the most special, for she alone created something that even the Weave acknowledged, something that the Weave incorporated into its core. She alone was the one who brought the End.

A unique existence, far more important than any other Primordial, they could all encompass, they could all be the embodiment of other principles, of other phenomena, even Life… but only one could create Death.

There had existed three Primordials of Life, but only one of Death, a Single Dragon who had created the highest level of sorcery, the end of all life, the end of all existence, the final chapter of every being, the last moment. The eternal rest.

Death sat on her perfect throne and asked the boy her question. The final trial.

“Tell me, what is death?”