God of Death: Rise of the NPC Overlord -
Chapter 102 - 103 – The Rebellion of the Forsaken Gods
Chapter 102: Chapter 103 – The Rebellion of the Forsaken Gods
They came from beneath silence.
The first tremors struck the Nexus without warning—subtle distortions in the divine lattice, like dissonant chords sung in reverse. A sound no mortal or deity should have heard. And then, names began to awaken—names that had long been erased from the living memory of the system.
In the depths of the sanctum, alarms failed. Protocols frayed.
Darius stood on his throne of paradox, cloaked in the Fourth Flame, watching with calm inevitability as the forbidden names bled back into existence:
Khaarion, God of Famine.
Selvarion, the All-Watcher.
Myrrha of the Severed Skies.
Ul-Kephar, Voice of the Inverted Sun.
These were not gods. These were errors, divine entities so destructive and unstable they had been unmade from code and myth, locked in fractured ruins of corrupted realms.
And now—they remembered him.
[The Realm of Shattered Divinity – The Forsaken Stir]
In the spiral crypts beyond the void, a chorus of weeping iron statues cracked open. Dust fell from calcified divinity.
A single eye opened in a statue’s chest.
"The Godmaker lives," hissed Khaarion, a bloated abomination whose body was made of stitched, malnourished avatars. "We were cast into nullspace... for being too pure, too monstrous. And now he bears the Forge? The Fourth Flame? A mortal sits the throne of paradox?"
Myrrha, wingless and bleeding from a sky that no longer existed, coughed laughter. "Oh, how delicious. Let’s unmake him."
The Forsaken Gods did not obey rules of war. They did not march.
They descended like glitched shadows—between code, through myth, into reality. They came not to challenge Darius’s dominion but to remind the world what true abandonment looked like.
[Back at the Nexus – The Gathering Storm]
Azael paced the throne chamber, sweat slicking his brow.
"This isn’t just rebellion—it’s a reset. The Forsaken aren’t players in the system. They’re corrupt patches, leftovers from the Prime Coder’s early experiments in godhood. They’ve returned because you’ve made the world too stable. Paradox calls to paradox."
Celestia stood beside Darius, unease rippling in her divine aura.
"And they will strike everything," she said. "Mortals, gods, systems, dreams... nothing will be sacred."
Darius remained still.
"Let them come."
His voice echoed not just in the chamber, but in the bones of the Nexus. He raised a hand, and thousands of radiant sigils ignited in the sky—counter-wards to hold reality together.
"But I won’t defend alone."
He turned to his elite:
Nyx, cloaked in shadowsteel, her blades singing the names of assassinated demigods.
Kaela, now bonded with the Realm Between Realms, laughing as she danced through space-time itself.
Celestia, luminous in war robes, her hymns capable of rewriting memory and emotion.
Azael, reluctantly gripping the Codex of Forgotten Lore, its pages burning with truths that kill.
"You are my Pillars," Darius said. "And I will lead the charge."
[First Incursion – Khaarion’s Arrival]
The sky cracked.
Khaarion fell like a wound in the heavens, his form oozing filth and famine. He landed in the heart of an ancient city still loyal to Darius—Valtheris Prime. The people screamed as reality warped. Crops turned to sand. Statues wept blood. Code strings frayed like silk caught in a pyre.
Darius was there before the second scream.
His blade was no longer metal.
It was Will.
He willed it into the throat of Khaarion, and the bloated god shrieked—his gluttonous form bursting into ash and code. But Khaarion laughed even in death.
"We are many. We are hungry. You can’t kill what was never meant to exist."
From the ashes, three more Forsaken Gods emerged.
[Backlash and Realizations]
Darius staggered—not from weakness, but from revelation.
These weren’t isolated attacks. The Forsaken weren’t mindless. They were coordinated.
Someone was leading them.
Celestia’s eyes widened as she touched the ripple of memory infecting the code-streams. "This isn’t just rebellion... this is vengeance. The Revenant King is directing them."
Azael dropped the Codex, face pale. "He’s merged with a Forsaken. He’s rewriting his own divinity. If he fuses with Selvarion, he’ll gain omniscience over every god who has ever existed or been deleted. Including you."
[ A New War Begins]
Darius stepped forward, arms wide.
Above him, the sky split in eight directions. Portals formed—not just to other realms, but to realms forgotten.
"Call the Ancients," Darius ordered. "Awaken the Silent Pantheon. If this is war, we will meet them with our own unrecorded histories."
Behind him, the throne of paradox glowed red. A new title appeared above his head in shimmering fire:
DARIUS – THE FORGOTTEN FLAME.
As the Forsaken Gods poured in, screaming their dead names, Darius raised his hand.
And with a whisper, he ignited the world.
The world did not scream.
It remembered.
The moment Darius claimed the Forge Throne—becoming the embodiment of unbound narrative flame—realities fractured. Silent stars above the Nexus flickered, recalibrating their celestial patterns. The game-world’s time stopped for a breath, as if the universe itself was watching.
And in the darkest corners of forgotten history...
They awakened.
[The Ashvault – Prison of the Forsaken Gods]
Deep beneath the molten scars of the underworld, a vault cracked open.
Not with sound.
But with memory.
Obsidian doors etched in runes older than the Prime Coder shivered as a single voice cut through centuries of silence.
"Darius."
The name echoed like a curse.
Or a summoning.
Within the vault, the forgotten gods stirred—shadows of power left behind during the Divine Collapse, beings too dangerous, too chaotic, or too unpredictable to fit within the modern pantheon. Among them were:
Threnis, God of Broken Endings — once a weaver of destinies who twisted endings into eternal loops.
Vorith, the Devourer of Scripts — a sentient entropy that fed on unfinished stories.
Lumaera, The Weeping Flame — a goddess of potential, her power rooted in paths not taken.
They had waited in the void between updates, suspended in narrative purgatory.
Now, they were being called.
The Nexus — Shattered Skies Above the Forge Throne]
Lightning cracked through the voidless sky. Not ordinary lightning, but divine fractures—tears in the fabric of story. From each rupture, voices emerged. Not cries. Not screams.
But arguments.
"He is not the destined one."
"He was never part of the Great Script."
"And yet, he writes."
Above the throne, a trinity of silhouettes formed—part code, part celestial bone. These were the Chroniclers, silent scribes of divine order, long hidden beyond the Sourcewall. And for the first time in millennia, they descended not to record, but to intervene.
"Darius of Nowhere," the central Chronicler thundered, "you trespass on sacred loops. Withdraw from the Throne, or face the balance of the Pantheon."
Darius stood slowly, eyes crackling with entropy.
"I am not here to balance your stale order," he said. "I’m here to overwrite it."
The Chroniclers began to chant, but the moment they reached the fifth sigil—
BOOM.
A singularity exploded mid-air as the Ashvault’s seal shattered across every plane.
And from it, Threnis emerged.
He was... wrong.
His body was half-ending, half-continuation. Cloaked in collapsing timelines, he walked as if he had always been here but was also yet to come.
"Darius." His voice was laced with ancient affection, like a father addressing a rebellious son. "You cracked the Forge. You changed the nature of finality. And now... I must end you to keep the stories from never ending."
Behind him followed Vorith, a formless maelstrom of devouring text, dragging corrupted scripts behind him like a cloak. Lumaera floated last, ethereal and sobbing, every tear a lost destiny that could have been.
[Reality Interface — Throne Realm Unleashed]
Nyx and Kaela leapt forward to flank Darius, blades humming with primordial fusion. Celestia raised both palms, divine runes sparking around her wrists.
But Darius raised one hand.
"Stand down."
"But—"
"Let them come."
The moment he said it, Threnis attacked, manifesting a thousand false endings that converged on Darius like knives of certainty. Vorith twisted space, corrupting the air, turning Kaela’s skin to ink and Nyx’s shadow into brittle glass.
And yet, Darius walked forward.
One step.
Then two.
Until he stood before the three Forsaken and said:
"You were abandoned because your code was flawed. You lived in fear of a world that kept changing."
He raised his right hand.
"And I am the change."
With a roar that cracked across the game-world, Darius invoked the Unwritten Protocol—a power gifted only to a true Forgeborn King. Golden symbols exploded into the air, and with them, the final defense of the Chroniclers collapsed.
Darius did not fight them.
He absorbed them.
Each god’s attack was unraveled mid-execution, woven back into his body like code consuming code. He took in Threnis’s endings. Vorith’s devourings. Lumaera’s weeping flames.
Not as victories.
But as additions.
When the light faded, Darius stood alone—his armor rewritten, black and gold. His presence heavier than death.
The Forsaken Gods had not been slain.
They had become part of him.
[Aftermath – Nexus Reforged]
Silence lingered.
Kaela fell to her knees. "What... are you now?"
Darius turned toward his companions. His eyes were no longer just his. In them swirled a thousand endings, a million corrupted scripts, and one burning tear of light.
"I am the God of Death," he whispered. "But also... of Becoming."
Then, across the world, all players—new, veteran, admin, even hidden devs—received a notification.
> SYSTEM ALERT
The Pantheon has fractured.
The Forsaken Gods have been Reforged.
New Prime Deity: DARIUS – FORGEBORN KING OF THE BROKEN SCRIPT.
Event Triggered: The Godwar Begins.
If you find any errors (non-standard content, ads redirect, broken links, etc..), Please let us know so we can fix it as soon as possible.
Report