God of Death: Rise of the NPC Overlord -
Chapter 104 - 105 – The Entropic Garden
Chapter 104: Chapter 105 – The Entropic Garden
The garden should not have existed.
Suspended in the void between stabilized timelines, it floated like a wound—bleeding starlight and fragmented songs of dead gods. Petals whispered forgotten prayers. Trees bloomed with divine corpses. Vines carried echoes of doctrines long unspoken. It was a place where memory decayed into fertility and paradox became soil.
Liora walked ahead, barefoot, her blindfold shimmering with residual fate. The Fourth Flame’s voice was a whisper behind thought.
"This is the Entropic Garden—the grave of gods unworthy of myth. Born from forgotten faith, nourished by discarded divinity."
Behind her, Darius walked with Nyx and Kaela flanking him, their eyes scanning the impossible horizon. Celestia moved slower, cautious, heart heavy.
"It’s alive," Nyx muttered. "Not just the garden... but the regret it’s built from."
Kaela touched a blooming rose with her fingertips. It shivered—and screamed in a language only soulshapers could hear.
"Why did you leave me behind?"
A single petal fell and crumbled into rust.
They reached the center: a circular glade of floating steps surrounding an altar of cracked glass.
Darius stopped.
Someone was already there.
Him.
But not now. Not the God of Death. Not the Nexus King.
A younger Darius—before ascension, before the Architect, before the madness. His eyes held fear. His hands trembled. He still hoped. He still dreamed.
The younger version looked up at him, trembling. "Are you... me?"
Darius remained silent.
"This is your Trial," Liora said softly. "The Garden doesn’t test power. It tests divergence. What you could have been... versus what you chose to become."
Around them, the divine flora began to hum—choral dissonance, a psalm of judgment.
The Trial
The younger Darius stepped forward, eyes wide. "Why did you let them die?"
Darius flinched.
"Why did you kill to climb?"
More visions bloomed around them—Kaela devouring memories to survive, Nyx murdering in the name of loyalty, Celestia bleeding out during a forgotten ritual. Every moment of sacrifice, every cost of his rise echoed like thunder beneath his feet.
The younger Darius trembled. "You became a god... but not the one we needed."
"I became the only one who could end the cycle," Darius replied at last, voice sharp. "I bled so they wouldn’t have to."
"But you made them bleed anyway."
The words stung more than any blade.
Celestia stepped forward.
Tears lined her eyes—not from guilt, but from clarity.
She touched Darius’s hand. "You don’t have to prove yourself to him. You already proved it to us... when you stayed."
Darius turned, looking into her eyes. The woman who had walked beside him through madness, loss, lust, and fire.
She placed a hand on his chest. "But you’ve forgotten something... something this garden is trying to remind you of."
"What?"
She kissed him—slow, gentle, filled with longing and grief.
And whispered, "You were good... before the world made you a god. But you don’t have to forget that goodness to become more."
The Trial shattered.
The younger Darius faded—not in rejection, but in integration.
The Garden accepted the truth not as victory or defeat... but as growth.
And from the altar bloomed a tree unlike the rest—roots of logic, leaves of unformed prophecy. Its fruit glowed with raw potential.
Darius stepped forward and bit into it.
The Garden bowed.
As the others watched, the garden began to fold in on itself, a collapsing reality fragment now anchored by a new law: Darius is no longer bound by the innocence he lost, nor haunted by it. He remembers—and evolves.
Liora knelt.
"The Garden has accepted your divergence," she said.
Nyx nodded silently. Kaela exhaled. Celestia pressed herself close to Darius’s side, heart steady now.
Darius looked into the void above, where stars shimmered in distorted rhythms.
And for the first time since his ascension...
He smiled.
The battlefield beneath the shattered sky of Elyndor was a maddened opera of collapsing destinies. Each blow of Darius’s blade unraveled not only flesh—but prophecy. His enemies were no longer merely forsaken gods, but walking contradictions to fate itself.
Kaela moved at his side like a spiraling vortex of voidlight and sensual madness, her chaos unfurling behind her in veils of unraveling potential. Flames twisted into water, stone bled with divine ichor, and the very idea of causality strained as her laughter rang.
Above them, the three Forsaken Gods converged.
Threnis, the God of Broken Endings, hovered like a shattered marionette, threads of time twisting around his hands. Each strand was a possible ending—a death not yet lived, a fall never taken. "You stand at the edge of all paths, Death-Lord. But do you even know which path is yours?"
Darius raised his gaze. "I no longer walk paths. I devour them."
With a gesture, the blackened flames of the Forge Throne flared around him, fusing with the mark of Origin carved into his chest. It pulsed once—then shattered Threnis’s strands.
The threads of prophecy snapped with screams.
Across the horizon, Vorith, Devourer of Scripts, charged like a storm of broken code and null-data. "CONSUME. ERASE. RESET." His voice was static and hunger, a fragment of the game’s deletion engine given divine form.
Kaela intercepted him mid-surge, her form splintering into nine chaotic avatars that danced and kissed and tormented. Vorith screamed in code as she stabbed him with a kiss of potential unrealized.
"This story isn’t yours, code-fiend," she whispered. "It’s his."
Darius exploded forward, voidfire coiling around his blade. He didn’t strike at the god.
He struck at narrative.
His sword—now fused with the Architect’s Will and the chaos of the Void Entity—sliced through Vorith’s divine script. Paragraphs unraveled. His essence bled into corrupted starlight.
And then—
Lumaera descended.
She didn’t fight.
She wept.
Thousands of versions of her fell across the sky—each one a path she could’ve taken, a timeline where she burned bright. One where she ruled beside Darius. Another where she slew him. Another where she loved him as a mortal girl lost in the outer rings.
"You’re destroying not only gods," she said, "but what we could’ve been."
Darius paused. Celestia stepped beside him, wounded but glowing with anchored light. "He knows," she said gently. "But there’s no place for what could have been anymore. Only what will be, carved by his hand."
Lumaera kissed Darius—not on the lips, but on his forehead. "Then devour me too."
She shattered into fragments of weeping starlight, her essence flowing into Darius’s divine core, fueling his transformation.
[Moments Later – The Aftermath]
The battlefield was quiet.
The Forsaken Gods were no more. Absorbed, defeated, or scattered into myth.
Darius stood alone at the heart of a crater glowing with fractured fate.
His body burned with divinity. His eyes no longer saw with sight, but with reality’s skeleton.
The ground trembled—not in fear, but in recognition.
Kaela smiled from the shadows. Nyx watched with reverent silence. Celestia bowed her head—tearful, proud, terrified.
Azael whispered, "You are no longer Death. You are... the Unwritten."
And above them, in the void beyond code, the Prime Coder stirred—
For now, there was only one Author.
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