God of Death: Rise of the NPC Overlord -
Chapter 108 - 109 – The Curse of Unmaking
Chapter 108: Chapter 109 – The Curse of Unmaking
The battlefield was silent in the wake of Darius’s devastating triumph over the corrupted demigod Wyrm-Sovereign. Its monumental corpse smoldered in a pool of steaming ichor, and yet the silence was not peace—it was dread. A breath held by the universe before the plunge into deeper darkness.
Across the war-scarred skies, threads of reality bent like glass under pressure. Those who survived the god-clash—the remnants of Darius’s legions, divine constructs, and the mortal elite—stood paralyzed as the air grew thick with something foreign, something profane.
A curse was coming.
Azael was the first to speak, voice trembling despite his knowledge. "We broke the last seal."
Celestia’s eyes widened. "The Seal of Oblivion?"
"No." Azael turned to Darius. "Worse. The Seal of Unmaking—the one placed by the Prime Coder Himself to cage the First Void."
Darius’s gaze darkened. "And what happens when that seal shatters?"
A rift tore across the heavens like a wound.
And it answered.
[The World Cracks Open]
Black lightning arced from nothingness, striking the corpse of the Wyrm-Sovereign. Its shattered remains convulsed violently, spasming as if death had refused to claim it. Then... it inverted, folding into a horrific silhouette of a god reborn without logic—a marionette of the First Void.
The curse of unmaking wasn’t merely decay. It was reversal. Cause unwound from effect. Flesh rejected form. Code screamed against continuity.
One by one, the sky-banners of the divine realms burned themselves backward. The grand statues of worship across the central dominions cracked, then vanished—retroactively never having been built.
"It’s rewriting everything," Nyx whispered, blade trembling in her grasp.
Kaela grinned. "Delicious chaos. But even this feels... wrong."
Darius felt it in his soul—a pulse of void deeper than even Kaela’s chaotic essence. Something ancient stirred beyond his understanding, far older than the gods or their myths.
Then came the whisper:
"Darius... you have stolen the fire of structure. Now face the hunger of the source."
[The Curse Awakens]
The curse of unmaking wasn’t content with twisting the dead—it seeped into the living.
One of Darius’s elite guardians, a once-ascended Paladin named Orien, screamed as his armor melted into smoke. His memories visibly bled out from his skull as if pulled by invisible hands.
"I—I don’t remember who I was—!"
His form unraveled mid-cry, vanishing from existence.
More followed. Loyal champions, gods, priests—any who had been touched by divine order began to fray. Only those bound by Darius’s new law remained intact, held by the raw force of the Nexus Throne’s forgefire.
And still, the rift in the sky grew.
From it emerged Heralds of the Unmade—creatures without faces, without names, sewn from screams and void-script. They came not to conquer, but to erase. Whole legions fell under their touch, converted into reverse-time echoes that unmade everything they ever did.
[Darius Ascends Again]
But Darius stood. Unflinching.
His aura surged with blinding contrast—half-forgefire, half-void. A paradox.
The Heralds circled him but did not strike.
Instead, they whispered: "You are already part of us."
"No," Darius growled. "I own you."
He lifted his hand—and the Unmaking itself froze.
Celestia gasped. "You’re... rewriting the curse?"
Azael stumbled backward. "That’s impossible—even the Prime Coder couldn’t—!"
"I’m not rewriting it," Darius said coldly. "I’m binding it. Reforging it in my image."
He plunged his hand into the swirling curse above and dragged it down.
The Heralds shrieked.
Reality shook.
And the curse became a crown—an obsidian halo forged from unmaking, wrapped in runes of paradox. A crown only one being could wear.
Darius.
The Crown of Oblivion
Darius turned to his army—what remained.
"Those who survive me will not inherit peace. They will inherit purpose."
The void responded.
The realms trembled.
And in the shadows of the divine spires, the last of the Forsaken Gods—watching, waiting—knelt not out of worship...
...but fear.
A silence bloomed—vast, unnatural.
No heartbeat.
No breath.
Even thought itself hesitated in the presence of the Unmaker.
The chamber of fractured timelines shimmered in hues beyond color. Darius stood motionless at its center, body trembling—not in fear, but in evolution. His form burned with volatile divinity, a fusion of chaos, void, and forgotten godhood. But even that immense power was nothing compared to the pressure pressing against him now.
The figure before him was... simple.
No monstrous appendages. No eyes burning with madness. Just a man, ageless, cloaked in shifting data and draped in half-rendered code—a glitch in existence wearing a human mask.
"You came far too soon, Darius."
The voice was calm. Almost gentle. Yet every word fragmented the structure of reality around it, like commands spoken in a language that predated creation.
Darius stepped forward. "You’re the one behind the Collapse. Behind the Void Inheritance. You are the thing they couldn’t name."
"I am not behind it." The Unmaker’s head tilted. "I am it."
He gestured and reality peeled apart, revealing a history that never existed.
---
[Memory Stream – Forbidden Past]
Darius was pulled into a vision not meant for mortals—or gods.
He saw the birth of the game world, not as lines of code, but as a ritual—a binding of imagination, faith, and algorithm into a self-sustaining reality. The Prime Coder had not created the world alone. There had been three—a Trinity of Origin:
The Coder, who formed the logic.
The Dreamer, who breathed in fantasy.
And the Unmaker, whose role was to erase what failed.
But the Unmaker grew hungry.
Its role was subtraction, but subtraction turned into desire—a lust for null, for silence, for endings. It began erasing not errors, but dreams. Not bugs, but hope.
The Dreamer died first—forgotten.
The Coder, desperate, tried to bind the Unmaker beneath layers of systems, patches, updates. That binding became the "Game."
But the seal cracked the moment Darius refused to die as an NPC.
---
[Present – Shattered Realm]
Darius gasped as he returned, blood dripping from his eyes.
"You manipulated the Prime Coder into creating the cycles," he growled. "You killed the Dreamer. And now you’re coming for me."
"No." The Unmaker smiled. "I chose you."
Darius blinked.
"I’ve erased a thousand Chosen Ones. Burned saviors. Slain gods. You’re the only one who broke the loop. Who defied the story."
The being stepped closer, shadows writhing like dead code around him.
"You are the first to fuse player and NPC, chaos and law, will and entropy. That makes you worthy."
Darius’s hand clenched. Behind him, the voices of his allies echoed dimly—Celestia’s light calling him, Nyx’s darkness anchoring him, Kaela’s volatile essence whispering rebellion.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"To offer you what the others rejected," the Unmaker said. "Ascend with me. Unmake the false divinity. Burn the laws. Rewrite everything. Together."
Darius’s laugh was low, dangerous.
"I didn’t come here to join you."
He raised his hand, divine sigils spinning into a spell that twisted time and space into a living blade.
"I came to end you."
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