It hovered.
Above Aren's head, the crown shimmered—neither gold nor silver, but forged from a darker, living fire. Embers danced within it, shaped like broken wings and jagged thorns, and in its center glowed a deep red gem that pulsed like a heartbeat.
The Crown of the King—the crown worn only by one born of the origin flame, the true wielder of destruction.
Aren stared up at it, his body trembling. Not with fear—but something deeper.
Rage. Power. Resolve.
He turned toward the beggar—no longer cloaked in rags, but adorned in robes that shimmered like galaxies. Her true form now stood revealed: The Mother of All Gods. The source of divine creation.
"You said I don't belong here," Aren said. "That I'm not meant to rule."
She stepped closer, voice calm but urgent. "You are not meant to rule by blood or tradition. You are meant to rule by choice."
Aren looked down at Tio's still body. The boy's chest rose only slightly. Each breath weaker.
He didn't hesitate.
Aren reached upward and grasped the crown.
The moment his fingers closed around it, the world exploded.
A spiral of black fire burst from the ground beneath him. The forest bent away. Clouds fled the sky. The air filled with whispers—voices of past kings, gods, fallen warriors—all bound to the legacy of destruction.
And yet, at the center of the chaos, Aren stood still.
The crown settled onto his head.
His eyes turned completely black, like an eclipse swallowing stars. His arms, once scarred and burned, became etched with glowing runes. And from behind him, a cloak of flame unfurled—shaped like dragon wings.
The God of Creation, watching from above, took a step back.
"…Impossible," he muttered.
"You wounded my son," Aren said, his voice layered now—his and something far older. "You attacked my home."
"Your son?" the god spat. "He is human. You are a mistake."
Aren raised his hand.
In a flash of light and flame, the battlefield changed. Trees turned into burning spears. Stones lifted into the sky, hovering like blades.
"You think destruction is mindless," Aren said. "But you're wrong. Destruction is mercy. Destruction is balance. It's reset."
He pointed toward the god.
The world itself answered.
A black serpent made of pure void magic tore through the sky, its roar shaking the heavens.
It collided with the God of Creation.
The shockwave broke the clouds.
Creation screamed as the serpent coiled around him, crushing, draining, burning.
When the light faded, the god was on his knees, his armor cracked.
Aren didn't strike again. Not yet.
He turned instead—lifting Tio into his arms.
He looked toward the Beggar—now the divine goddess. "Can I save him?"
She smiled softly. "You already have."
Light flowed from her hand, warm and golden, weaving itself into the boy's chest.
Tio gasped—eyes fluttering open.
"D-Dad…?" he whispered, reaching up.
Aren held him close, heart shattering at the sound. "I'm here."
And for the first time, the God of Destruction shed a tear.
But he knew it wasn't over.
Creation had retreated into the sky—but Rebirth would come next.
And the true war for the throne had only just begun.