Before the Fall: Rise of the Apocalypse King-Chapter 34: Let the Game Begin

Smoke rose from the dying earth. Cities crumbled, oceans boiled, forests turned to ash. The sky burned, not with fire, but with something far worse—light that killed.

Blackholes, far beyond human reach, opened its mouth and screamed. burst of gamma rays tore through the earth atmosphere like a divine sword, swift and merciless.

It was not an accident. It was judgment.

For centuries, mankind fed on greed. They bled the earth dry. They fought over water, land, power—over things they could never truly own. Pride ruled their hearts. No one listened. No one stopped.

And then, when the last war broke out—when nuclear fire rained from the skies over clean drinking water—something ancient awoke. Something that had watched, silently, from the dark corners of the universe.

When blackholes died,

It created crack in the very fabric of space.

And from it came death—not with noise, but with light too powerful to see. Gamma rays swept across the planet. Not even the rich, the powerful, or the hidden were spared.

In seconds, it was over.

No cries. No prayers.

Only silence.

It was not fate.

It was the consequence of pride. Of greed.

And the universe does not forgive.

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The Hall of Ascendancy.

It floated in a silent void of swirling stars. The walls weren’t made of stone, but of shifting constellations. The ceiling moved like the night sky, and the floor was a mirror showing a thousand different worlds—some still alive, some already dead.

At the center of this grand hall was a glowing golden platform, round like a sun, beating slowly like a heart. Around it stood four thrones, massive and shaped by pure divine power.

One by one, the gods appeared.

The first was cold and silent. A tall figure stepped out of a dark mist. He wore a bone-white mask, and his black cloak trailed behind him like a river of shadows.

This was Morvax, God of Death.

His voice was low and calm, like a whisper of wind over a grave.

"It is done," he said. "The world has destroyed itself... again."

Then came fire. A storm of flame tore across the hall as a giant figure walked through it. His body was made of burning stone. His eyes were lava.

This was Kael’Zor, God of Destruction.

He punched the side of his throne as he sat down. Sparks flew everywhere.

"They always fail. Always. I say we wipe the rest and start fresh."

The shadows did not move. Morvax said nothing in reply.

Then came the wind. A calm breeze, quick and sharp, turned into a tall, silver-robed man. A glowing bow hung on his back, and his eyes were like two moons.

This was Elarion, God of the Hunt and Precision, master of the bow Vael’Taris.

He walked slowly to his seat and looked toward the golden platform in the center.

"We follow the law," he said. "Even now."

The last to arrive was not loud, but her presence was strong.

From the golden light came a woman wrapped in stars. Her dress was like the night sky, moving with every breath. Her eyes glowed with violet light, and flowers bloomed where she walked.

This was Seraphyne, Goddess of Fate and Memory.

She did not sit. Instead, she walked to the platform and placed her hand over it. Four lights rose from its surface, each glowing with a different color and pulse.

"The souls are chosen," she said. "Each one marked by destiny. And each... burdened with the past."

Kael’Zor crossed his arms.

"They were weak in life. Why should they be given a second chance?"

Seraphyne looked at him.

"Because weakness is not permanent. It is the seed of strength. Let them grow."

Elarion nodded, eyes focused.

"We will send them back in time. Let them remember the end. Let them carry the weight. And we will give each a piece of ourselves."

"The Ancient Law allows it," Morvax whispered. "And we cannot change what was written."

High above them, the ceiling of the Hall lit up. Glowing runes burned into the sky, older than any star:

"When the age of man consumes itself in flame,

And the breath of the world grows still...

When blood drowns the soil, and silence falls upon kings and beggars alike—

Then shall the Seal of Return be broken.

The circle shall shatter.

Time, once bound, shall bleed backward.

From the ashes of forgotten screams,

Four shall rise—not born anew, but called from death.

Each bearing a mark unseen by mortal eyes,

Each carrying the weight of their sins and their gods’ mercy.

They shall walk the path carved by agony,

Tested by war, by betrayal, by the hunger of power.

Only one shall reach the peak,

Where divinity shivers and fate is blind.

Only one shall break the veil.

And he—or she—shall ascend not by birthright,

But by the ruin of all that stands in their way.

Thus it was written in the breath of the First Flame,

And thus shall it be,

Even the gods may not look beyond the final step."

The words burned bright, then faded.

A long silence followed.

Kael’Zor leaned forward.

"Who will the King be?"

Elarion replied without looking at him.

"Even we are not allowed to know. That choice will be made by fate... and blood."

Morvax stepped forward.

"Let the cycle begin."

One by one, the four floating soul-lights sank into the golden platform, then vanished from sight—sent down into the past. Sent to be reborn.

Somewhere on Earth, four humans stirred in their sleep. They had died once, long ago. But now, they would wake again... with memories, powers, and something else deep within their hearts.

A hunger to rise.

-----------------

In the demon realm, the sky was always dark. Thick black mist covered the land like a heavy blanket. Red clouds hung low, glowing faintly like burning embers, casting an eerie light on everything below.

Spiky mountains rose like broken teeth from the ground, and rivers of lava flowed through the cracks of the cursed earth. The air was dry, yet heavy—filled with the stench of smoke, blood, and something ancient.

At the center of this world, on a throne made of bones and stone, sat the Demon God — Zar’Vokh. His skin was dark like coal, and four twisted horns curled from his forehead. His eyes had been shut for centuries, but now... they opened slowly, glowing like red stars in the darkness.

A deep, ancient voice escaped his lips, more like a whisper carried by the wind:

"So... it’s finally starting. This time... I will take what should have been rightfully mine."

Then, without another word, Zar’Vokh closed his eyes again.

--------

All across the demon realm, the ground shook slightly, and the air felt heavier than usual. A strange energy moved through the land, like a quiet storm waking up after a long sleep. The Demon God had opened his eyes—and every powerful being felt it.

The demon lords, scattered across different parts of the realm, suddenly paused. Some were sitting on mountains of skulls, others deep in caves of fire or inside castles made of black stone. Their eyes narrowed. Their hearts, cold and cruel, felt a flicker of unease.

They knew what this meant.

"He’s awake..." some whispered.

"After all these years..." others growled.

Without wasting time, the demon lords gave orders to their armies and loyal servants.

"Go. Find out what’s happening. Now!"

"I want answers. And I want them fast!"

Their voices echoed across the land. Horns blew. Creatures with wings, claws, and burning eyes flew into the sky or crawled through shadows. Something big was coming. Everyone could feel it.

It had been millions of years since the last great war with the gods. The land had never fully recovered. And now... it looked like another brutal war was about to begin.

---

As the gods fell silent, the Hall of Ascendancy dimmed. The stars in the walls faded. The heartbeat in the platform slowed.

The meeting was over.

But far away...

Far beyond the heavens...

Beyond even the gods’ reach...

There was another place.

A place of chaos.

It had no name, only screams. No light, only shadow. Planets floated like dead stones. Broken moons bled rivers of ash. Storms of energy twisted in the blackness.

And at the very center, sitting on a cracked throne of bones, was him.

The being of chaos.

No god spoke his name. No law bound him. He was not part of the council. He was older than rules.Some gods didn’t new about his existence. But He did not forget. He only waited.

His eyes opened—black holes in a sea of void.

He smiled.

And in a voice that shook the very fabric of time, he spoke in an ancient tongue. The words echoed like the cracking of mountains, like stars being torn apart.

"Let the games begin."

With a single wave of his hand, chaos exploded across space.

Five planets, glowing nearby in the dark, were ripped apart—shattered into dust and fire. They didn’t even scream. There was no time.

All life, gone in seconds.

He leaned back on his throne, eyes now turned toward the tiny blue planet called Earth.

"Let them rise," he whispered. "And let them suffer."

Then he disappeared into the swirling dark.

===========================

Author’s Note:

Roman has chosen the dark path. The world will burn again... but under **his** rule this time.

If you’re enjoying the chaos, don’t forget to:

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Your support helps the story rise — and ensures Roman doesn’t come after *me* for stopping. 😂

See you in the next Chapter!

—Author

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