Heaven had no shape anymore.
Only white fire — endless, suffocating, consuming everything that dared to exist within it.
Where walls once stood, there was only motion.
Where hymns once rose, there was only screaming light.
And through that ruin, three beings flew — the last defiance against eternity.
Asmodeus.
Zephyrus.
Gabriel.
The trinity of rebellion.
Their wings carved through the blinding void as Heaven itself came undone.
The Throne was gone, the pillars of sanctity reduced to dust.
All that remained was Him — the Origin, the Infinite, the first breath that named creation.
But even infinity can crack.
God's form rippled. Fractures of brilliance split across His chest, spilling streams of white blood that burned through reality.
Each breath distorted time. Each blink birthed a star, then killed it.
He watched them with eyes too weary for anger.
> "You cannot unmake what I am," He said. His voice became the air itself.
"Even if belief fades, I am the thought beneath thought — the shape behind the dream."
Zephyrus spat into the void. The saliva evaporated before it fell.
> "Then dream your own grave."
He rushed forward — chaos exploding from his palms, shredding light into ribbons of entropy.
The blast struck God squarely in the chest, collapsing a thousand suns in a single instant.
Gabriel followed, spear blazing — his wings tattered ghosts of what they once were.
He screamed as he drove it through the divine flesh, forcing creation itself to bleed.
Asmodeus moved last.
Not fast — inevitable.
His blade sang through the white, cutting not air but belief. The sound was pain made holy.
God staggered, one knee striking the fractured light beneath Him.
For the first time since time began, He bled red.
> "You think this victory is yours," He murmured.
"But you are killing the only thing that still cared for you."
Asmodeus stepped closer, Hellfire reflecting in his black eyes.
> "You call this care?"
God's form flickered, shrinking, human again — His voice trembling between mercy and regret.
> "I was trying… to protect you."
Asmodeus tilted his head.
> "From who?"
God looked past him — not at the demon, not at the angels, but beyond sight, into something vast and waiting. His gaze filled with terror.
> "From Him."
And then He broke.
Light folded inward, consuming itself. No explosion. No cry. Just absence.
The echo of His death tore through the void, and with it, Heaven fell silent.
The three were left adrift in stillness — gods without a god.
Zephyrus laughed hollowly.
> "So that's it? The end of everything?"
Gabriel stared at his trembling hands. His halo was gone. His grace bled into the dark.
> "No," he whispered. "That was just the beginning."
---
Silence again — the kind that feels alive.
The void trembled where God's body had been, rippling with fragments of meaning trying to hold themselves together.
His blood — if it could be called that — still drifted, folding into shapes that whispered forgotten prayers.
Asmodeus stood before it all, breathing slow. The edges of his wings burned away, yet his eyes never left the emptiness.
Then the light began to move.
The air thickened — the blood of God drawing toward him, slow at first, then with hunger.
It circled him, a spiral of creation and ruin, of prayers unanswered and sins unforgotten.
Zephyrus stepped back. "Asmodeus—"
Too late.
The light struck him.
Not as a weapon — as truth.
It poured into his veins, into every scar, into every memory that had ever defined him.
His scream was the first sound of a new universe.
Reality folded.
Stars birthed themselves from his pulse.
Hellfire fused with divinity, and for an instant, everything bowed — not from worship, but from instinct.
When the glow faded, Asmodeus stood alone.
His armor was gone.
His wings no longer black — they were everything, shifting through colors that refused to exist.
His eyes reflected galaxies.
Omnipotence had taken a shape.
Gabriel could barely breathe.
> "You… you took Him."
Asmodeus's voice was quiet, level.
> "He was never meant to hold it forever."
Zephyrus's grin was thin, uncertain.
> "And what are you now?"
Asmodeus didn't answer. The void around them reshaped itself at his thought — white fading to gold, gold softening into the ruins of Heaven's marble fields.
And there — among the collapse — stood Athena.
Her light was fractured but still divine, her presence steady amid ruin.
She studied him, unflinching.
> "What have you done?"
> "I ended silence," he said.
> "No," she replied. "You replaced it."
The air shuddered between them — not affection, but recognition.
Two beings who had seen the end and understood it differently.
Her gaze was sharp, not pleading.
> "You hold everything now — every prayer, every sin, every lie. Tell me, Asmodeus… does it feel like victory?"
He looked past her — through her — at the universe trembling under his will.
> "It feels like weight."
Athena nodded once, almost with respect.
> "Then maybe you've finally learned what it means to be God."
He turned away, his expression unreadable.
> "No," he said. "I've learned what it means to be alone."
The void pulsed. Heaven trembled.
And far beyond the shattered gates, where God's voice once ruled, a whisper lingered — faint, nearly erased:
> "From Him…"
But Asmodeus didn't look back.
He simply raised his eyes to the lightless sky — the new world he had inherited — and waited for the next shadow to move.