Nimistran sat alone atop a black spire.
Some endings are chosen.
Some are earned.
And some… are long overdue.
---
Sanctum of the Final Name
There was no throne here.
No armies.
No chants.
No war drums.
Only silence.
And stars that refused to shine.
Nimistran sat alone atop a black spire suspended in a dead cosmos—where time was no longer permitted to move forward. Around him, broken halos of extinct constellations spun like forgotten prayers. The blade at his back—Oblivion's Fang—shimmered not with fire, but with absence. Each pulse devoured light. Each breath silenced fate.
His eyes were closed.
His heart didn't beat.
Because gods no longer needed hearts.
---
He Felt It
A tremor in the fabric of consequence.
Analice had fallen.
"Flame devoured hunger. So be it."
He did not flinch. He expected this.
"Thermuz burned. Analice fed. Both were distractions. Flames and shadows—how loud they scream before they vanish."
His hand rested on the altar beside him—a slab carved from the last remaining truth in the cosmos. Upon its surface was etched a single phrase:
"The end has no rival. Only delay."
He stood.
And the galaxy wept.
---
The Blade Speaks
Behind him, Oblivion's Fang whispered.
Not words.
Memories.
Every god it had ever slain. Every scream it had consumed. Every truth it had erased.
Matt's name echoed again.
Not as a threat.
As a question.
"Will he remember… what you were?"
Nimistran answered without voice.
"He will.
And then he will fall."
The Fang hummed.
Not in agreement.
In hunger.
---
Last Light of the Stars
Far across the void, Earth pulsed with Ashlight.
Nimistran turned.
He did not march.
He did not descend.
He simply was.
His arrival would not be an act of war.
It would be the moment the universe remembered that even light must sleep.
And in the breath between seconds, the Final Blade moved.
"I am not wrath."
"Not judgment."
"Not even death."
"I am what comes after."
The words echoed—perhaps from a dying god. Perhaps from the stars themselves.
> "Then the world only has one ending left to face."
> "Then came silence. Not peace—prelude."
And from that silence, something remembered.