There was nothing left to rule.
No grand throne room with polished marble pillars, no silken banners fluttering in the mountain breeze, no throngs of citizens chanting his name with tearful reverence. There were no loyal knights standing shoulder-to-shoulder, waiting for his command to march into glory.
No family. No kingdom.
Only ash.
Across the vast, broken horizon, the pulverized remains of a once-proud civilization stretched out like a blackened graveyard. Cities that had stood for ten thousand years were reduced to charcoal skeletons beneath a canopy of sky that had long forgotten how to be blue. The atmosphere bled a sickening, bruised violet, choked with toxic fallout and the stagnant stench of burnt mana.
Leornars stood alone at the precipice of a massive stone pillar overlooking the barren wasteland.
He was no longer wearing the regal garments of a sovereign king. His majestic coat hung in tattered ribbons, heavy with dried blood and thick gray soot. The long, magnificent strands of his platinum hair—once the symbol of royal lineage—hung matted and loose around his pale face, half of it scorched away from the cataclysmic battle that had preceded this quiet moment.
His crimson eyes were hollow.
It wasn't a calm hollow, nor was it the serene stillness of a warrior who had found peace. It was an abyss. A void where a human soul used to reside before the world tore it out root and stem.
*So... it really has come down to this.*
Slowly, his gaze drifted downward toward the abyssal plain beneath the pillar.
An army was waiting for him.
Calling it an "army" felt like calling an ocean a puddle. It was a suffocating wall of malice, a dense, writhing sea of sentient life and cosmic terror that covered every millimeter of the desolate earth, extending past the horizon into the shattered clouds.
Three hundred million mortal soldiers. Thirty million high elves wielding shimmering, forbidden arcana. Twelve million dwarf vanguard commanders clad in adamantine plate.
Beyond them stood the abominable hordes: three hundred million high demons roaring in guttural defiance, thirty million arch-devils calculating his demise, thirty million seraphim and archangels burning with divine wrath, and twelve million holy priests chanting endless wards of binding.
Further back, slithering in the shadows of reality itself, were thirty thousand Void Wraiths—cosmic entities that devoured stars for sustenance. Ancient, nameless disasters whose terror had outlived entire galaxies stood side-by-side: The Leviathan, churning the sea of blood; The Arctic Devil, freezing the surrounding air into lethal frost; The Flaming Death, a walking supernova.
There were two natural monsters. Two living concepts—including the Void Reaper, the physical embodiment of cosmic despair.
Hovering higher in the firmament were twenty-three Lower Gods radiating blinding divinity, seventeen Outer Gods whose shifting forms defied human geometry, an Architect of reality, a Visionary of destiny, and countless other forgotten races whose numbers alone could have populated a hundred worlds over.
And at the absolute center of this cosmic coalition stood a single, towering figure.
The First Human. The progenitor of mankind. The eternal entity whose existence preceded every empire, every language, and every concept that humanity would ever create.
*Adamas Verti Minum.*
Even surrounded by gods that could crack planets with a thought, Adamas stood apart. His mere presence bent the atmospheric light, an absolute origin point of mortal life.
Leornars looked at him.
Adamas looked back, his primordial eyes unreadable.
Neither spoke. No words could carry enough weight to bridge the gulf between them. For several excruciating seconds, the entire world held its breath. The silence was absolute, a suffocating pressure that weighed heavier than a falling mountain.
Leornars broke the silence.
In his right hand, he held a delicate porcelain tea cup. A simple, mundane object. He had been slowly sipping from it as he watched the impossible legion gather at his feet, an absurdly quiet ritual amidst the end of the world.
His fingers loosened.
The cup slipped from his grasp, tumbling through the dead air.
*Crack.*
The fragile porcelain struck the cold stone beneath his boots, shattering into a dozen white fragments.
The sharp, tiny sound echoed across the silent battlefield, carrying far further than any mortal sound had a right to travel.
Leornars stared down at the broken pieces for a split second. A faint, bitter exhale escaped his lips. His right hand shifted down toward the pommel of his sword.
With a measured, unhurried motion, he drew the blade.
*Shing—*
The metallic ring was almost gentle, like a quiet whisper in a grand library.
He unclasped his torn coat and let it slide from his broad shoulders. It tumbled down, coming to rest silently beside the shattered tea cup. The wild, ash-choked wind pulled at his platinum hair, whipping it across his face.
Then, his expression shifted.
The empty void in his crimson eyes vanished, burned away in an instant. What took its place was an absolute, primordial fury—a rage so dense, so violent, and so utterly unhinged that space itself warped around his silhouette.
He looked down upon the hundreds of millions of gods, angels, demons, monsters, and concepts. Entities from dimensions where conventional physics were mere suggestions. They had all banded together, setting aside millennia of blood feuds for a single reason: they were terrified. They believed that by burying him under an infinite mountain of bodies, overwhelming force could finally erase the monster known as Leornars.
Leornars stared down at the divine legion.
And then, his lips peeled back into a wide, terrifying smile.
It was not a confident smile. It was not a heroic smile. It was the manic, desperate grin of a man who had already watched his universe burn to ash, leaving him with nothing left to protect—and nothing left to lose.
He raised his black blade high into the twilight sky. The mana within his core flared like an exploding star.
His voice thundered across the continent, shattering the sound barrier and shaking the foundations of the earth.
**"ALL OF YOU!"**
The massive army stirred, a collective flinch running through millions of divine and monstrous ranks.
Leornars leaned forward over the edge of the pillar, his crimson eyes gleaming with unholy light.
**"COME AT ME!!!!!!!"**
He pushed off the stone.
The massive stone pillar exploded into dust from the sheer kinetic force of his leap. Leornars plunged directly into the sea of death below.
### **Part I: The Carnage of One**
He plummeted into the dead center of the vanguard like a meteor.
Before his boots even touched the earth, his left hand shot out, clamping around the throat of an elite High Elf Archmage.
*CRACK!*
With a brutal twist of his arm, he ripped the elf's head clean off its shoulders, spine dangling like a grisly ribbon. Blood erupted in a crimson geyser, coating Leornars' face, but he didn't even blink. Before the headless corpse could hit the dirt, he planted his foot into its chest, launching himself backward into the air.
His left palm flared. The mana within his veins didn't just burn—it transmuted into a compressed, hyper-dense stellar core.
The temperature of the localized air spiked instantly, bypassing the thresholds of ordinary magic.
*120,000,000°C.*
**"[Helvatica]!"** Leornars roared.
A torrent of absolute white incandescence erupted from his hand. The flame was so hot that light itself bent around it in distortion.
The white wave swept across the vanguard like a divine broom. Millions of soldiers ceased to exist in a microsecond. Golden elven armor melted into liquid vapor; dwarven shields dissolved instantly; magic barriers constructed by thousands of archmages shattered like fragile glass before burning into nothingness. The very dirt beneath their feet turned into a bubbling lake of white-hot magma. Entire military formations were wiped from the ledger of existence in the blink of an eye.
Leornars flipped through the lingering heatwaves, his fingers twisting in complex, invisible motions.
Between his fingers, a thread manifested. It possessed no elemental property. It was not fire, nor mana, nor physical steel. It was an abstract concept given form—a conceptual line of absolute division.
He flicked his wrist.
*FWIP—!*
The microscopic thread swept across the battlefield at light speed. Three thousand demon warriors and celestial beasts were sliced in half. It was not a mere physical cut; their atomic structures were instantly uncoupled, causing their remains to collapse into fine, molecular dust.
Leornars slammed onto the obsidian ground, his blade slipping from its sheath in a fluid, vicious arc.
He inhaled the scorched air, tasting the ash and copper on his tongue.
Then—he sprinted forward.
**"[Enhance Physical]!"** he screamed, layering hundreds of stacking reinforcement spells onto his muscle fibers and skeletal structure simultaneously.
*BOOM!*
The ground cracked beneath his heels as he broke the sound barrier, becoming a blur of crimson and silver. His blade became a localized hurricane.
He passed through the first row of vanguard—a dozens-wide swath of silver armor split in two.
The second row—blood spray painted the sky.
The third row—heads rolled like hail.
Hundreds fell in seconds. Hundreds became thousands. Thousands became tens of thousands. He was a force of nature, a flesh-and-blood catastrophe carving a path through an ocean of meat and armor. He didn't stop to breathe. He didn't check his flank. He simply killed and advanced.
**"[Helvatica]!"** he shouted again, sweeping his hand to the left. A ocean of white plasma consumed fifty thousand demons.
**"[Helvatica]!"** he turned right, incinerating a legion of flying archangels mid-flight.
**"[HELVATICA]!"**
A third wave exploded in a full 360-degree nova around him, incinerating another two million combatants down to their constituent atoms.
Finally, the higher entities began to react to the slaughter.
"Impudent worm!" a deep, echoing voice boomed from the heavens.
A Lower God descended, clad in golden armor that radiated pure divine authority. The god raised a massive hand, channeling a concentrated pillar of raw celestial punishment directly onto Leornars' position. A beam of blinding light, three miles wide, tore through the sky.
Leornars didn't dodge. He didn't even raise a defensive ward.
He took a single step forward and jumped straight into the divine light.
His hand plunged into his sub-dimensional vault, pulling out a jagged, pitch-black blade wrapped in screaming souls—his cursed Necrosword.
He surged up through the searing beam of god-light, his skin blackening and peeling, and drove the cursed blade straight through the Lower God's throat!
*THWK!*
The divine entity froze, its golden eyes widening in sheer disbelief as the Necrosword began instantly corrupting its immortal essence. Leornars grabbed the god's gold-armored neck, using the creature's dying body as a springboard, and kicked off with enough force to shatter the god's neck entirely!
He vaulted higher into the stratosphere—straight toward the cluster of seventeen Outer Gods.
"Target locked," a localized beam of hyper-compressed reality fired from an Outer God's shifting geometric core.
The beam struck Leornars instantly.
*SPLAH!*
His entire left arm, along with his shoulder and a portion of his chest, was completely atomized.
Leornars plummeted back to the earth, crashing onto one knee in the middle of a demon battalion. Blood gushed from his gaping shoulder, splashing onto the scorched earth.
He looked down at the empty, smoking space where his left arm used to be.
"Tsk," he muttered, spurning the agony.
*Circulate core. Force the cells. Rebuild.*
With a sickening squelch of tissue and bone, his flesh exploded outward in a violent burst of forced cellular division. Bone pulled itself from marrow; red muscle fibers wove together like violent thread; nerves reattached with blinding shocks of pain; skin stretched over the new limb in seconds.
He stood up, flexed his newly grown left hand, and charged again.
*BOOM!*
Another cosmic beam hit him squarely in the chest. Half of his physical body vanished into non-existence.
Leornars bit down on his tongue so hard it severed, blood flooding his mouth and spilling down his chin. His singular eye flared with manic insanity as his internal regeneration worked overtime, sewing his body back together even as he took another forward step.
He kept walking.
The Outer Gods intensified their assault. A continuous stream of disintegrating beams bathed his body in absolute destruction. His skin burned away into charcoal. His muscles melted off his frame. His ribcage and white bones became completely visible to the horrified army watching him.
Yet—he took another step forward.
**"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!"**
His roar was not a cry of pain. It was a terrifying, guttural howl of pure, unadulterated hatred that shook the sky.
He accelerated, turning into a skeletal demon running through a storm of cosmic fire. The continuous beams finally overwhelmed his physical anchor—his entire body was reduced to a floating cloud of gray ash.
For a brief second, there was silence. The army held its breath. Had the monster finally fallen?
Then, the ash vibrated.
Subatomic fragments forcibly pulled themselves back together through sheer, stubborn willpower. White bones snapped into place; dark muscle tissue wrapped around the skeletal frame; skin flashed into reality.
Leornars returned.
Still running. Still fighting. Still advancing.
His crimson eyes locked onto the specific Lower God that had fired the continuous beam.
"You..." Leornars growled.
Without slowing down, Leornars jammed his hand directly into his own open chest wound, hooking his fingers beneath his own ribs.
*RIP!*
With a brutal jerk, he ripped three of his own blood-drenched rib bones free from his chest! He didn't even wince. Holding his own sharp bones like throwing daggers, he vaulted into the air.
He kicked an elite elf in the skull, caving it in and using the impulse to fly forward. He stepped on a giant demon's horn, then smashed his foot onto the head of an archangel, using the bodies of his enemies as a floating staircase through the sky.
Thousands of dying soldiers became his stepping stones as he accelerated past the speed of sound.
The Lower God panicked, raising its hand to cast a defensive barrier, but Leornars was already in its personal space. His face was twisted into a horrific, blood-stained visage of absolute violence.
He drove himself forward with everything he had left.
**"DIE!"**
He slammed headfirst directly into the god's throat, driving his jagged rib bones straight through the entity's divine core!
For nine days and nine nights, the sky never changed, and Leornars never stopped.
He did not sleep. He did not eat a single scrap of food. He did not rest his limbs for even a fraction of a second. He simply became a perpetual motion machine of death.
Every hour brought another endless wave of soldiers, and every wave became another mountain of corpses. Every god that descended to try and end his life became another trophy pinned to the ruined earth.
By the ninth day, the geography of the battlefield had been permanently rewritten.
The ground was buried under a sickening mountain of biological horror. Six hundred million corpses covered the continent—gods, demons, angels, and mortals pulverized into a vast, crimson mire beneath the boots of a single, unkillable man.
Leornars stood atop a mountain of dead Outer Gods, breathing in ragged, shallow gasps.
His body was a grotesque tapestry of forced survival. Black, magic-infused stitches held his torso together—some stitched by his own hands mid-combat, others forged by his hyperactive regeneration forcing torn muscles to bind. Deep wounds that had opened and reopened a hundred times wept dark crimson onto his shredded rags.
His clothes were entirely gone, save for ruined trousers soaked in black god-blood.
His chest heaved. His vision blurred around the edges. But his single focus—his burning crimson eyes—remained locked onto the remaining Outer Gods hovering trembling in the upper atmosphere.
He slowly raised his notched, blood-soaked sword once more.
*I can still move. I can still kill.*
Suddenly—the sky above split open.
*CREEEEAK—!*
A cosmic tear ran across the heavens, blinding golden light pouring through the rift. The sheer atmospheric pressure dropped to absolute zero in an instant. Every surviving soldier in the vast army fell to their knees, paralyzed by an incomprehensible weight.
Leornars forced his heavy head up.
Through the celestial rift, a grand, majestic figure descended. The entity possessed twelve wings of burning parchment and carried a massive, ethereal ledger that spanned the horizon.
The Monarch of Life. Kandri Ver Kenvik. The absolute keeper of the universe's Ledger of Existence.
Kandri's glowing eyes looked down upon the sea of six hundred million corpses, finally settling upon the battered, bloody man standing at the center of the carnage.
Kandri opened the grand book.
**"Leornirs Seers Avantris,"** Kandri's voice echoed, resounding not in the ears, but directly within the soul of every living entity.
Leornars froze.
*That name...*
It was a name buried beneath oceans of blood and centuries of tragedy. The ancient name he had borne long before he had become the monster known as Leornars. Before his kingdom fell. Before the ashes.
Kandri raised a single, luminous finger over the glowing pages of the ledger.
**"You have transgressed against the balance of the cosmos,"** Kandri proclaimed, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. **"You are found guilty of existing."**
The pages turned with a sound like thunder.
**"Therefore..."** Kandri placed his glowing finger directly upon the golden ink of Leornars' true name. **"...I revoke your life."**
Leornars stared up at the cosmic arbiter.
For the first time in nine grueling days of non-stop slaughter—he stopped moving.
The divine aura of absolute erasure washed over him. The realm itself began to untether his soul from reality, dissolving his physical presence from the ledger of creation.
Then—Leornars smiled.
It was a tiny, faint smile. Almost peaceful.
His hand relaxed. His fingers loosened their tight grip around the hilt of his black sword.
And with a sudden, violent snap of his arm, he threw it.
*FOOOOOOOM!*
The blade cut through the air, breaking the dimensional barrier as it accelerated past light speed. It flew across the ruined battlefield, bypassing the divine fields, bypassing the ledger's authority, and struck Kandri Ver Kenvik directly through the throat!
*THUD!*
Kandri's eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated shock.
The Monarch of Life remained standing in mid-air, but his divine heart instantly ceased to beat.
Because in the exact, infinitesimal microsecond that Kandri had attempted to remove Leornirs Seers Avantris from the Book of Life—Leornars had already physically removed Kandri's life from the universe.
Two absolute entities had just attempted to invalidate each other's right to exist simultaneously. And neither had expected the mortal to strike with such horrific, unhesitating speed.
Kandri's colossal form collapsed, tumbling from the sky like a fallen star and crashing into the mountains of dead gods below.
Silences returned to the wasteland.
Around Leornars lay the obliterated remains of an army that had once numbered in the hundreds of millions. Seven hundred million divine and mortal beings had entered this timeline to end him.
Now, only ruins and corpses remained.
Leornars stood alone at the epicenter of the dead world.
The last king of a dead empire. The man who had lost his home, his people, his crown, and his purpose. The man who had decided that if reality itself demanded his death—then reality would have to bleed for every single inch.
He slowly walked over to Kandri's corpse, yanked his black sword free from the god's neck, and turned his blood-stained face toward the remaining horror of the horizon.
His crimson eyes burned brighter than ever in the dark.
And somewhere deep beyond the boundaries of the dimensional fabric—something ancient, vast, and terrifying was quietly watching him.
Because this was not the end of Timeline 35,668,787.
This was the exact moment **Leornars stopped fighting for his dead kingdom... and started fighting simply because he had nothing left to lose.**