The sky above Nexus Umbral was no longer bound by logic.
It cracked.
Not shattered like glass, nor torn like cloth—but cracked, like the mask of a liar forced to smile too long. Veins of light pulsed across the firmament, each beat synchronized with Darius's breath. When he inhaled, stars flickered into being. When he exhaled, entire constellations trembled in fear.
Beneath that warped firmament, the world twisted.
Time no longer ran forward. It coiled, spiraled, whispered secrets back to itself. Mountains stood where rivers flowed yesterday. Cities burned and rebuilt in seconds, only to flicker away like hallucinations. Worshippers appeared mid-prayer, kneeling to idols that hadn't been born yet.
All of it flowed from him—the Divergent God.
Darius stood atop the obsidian spire of the Black Monastery, eyes closed, arms spread, listening not with ears but with divinity. He heard screams, moans, laughter, and prophecy all singing in one note: his name.
