God of Death: Rise of the NPC Overlord
Chapter 84 - 85: The Gate of First Light

Chapter 84: Chapter 85: The Gate of First Light

The rebel forces moved like shadows through the crumbling expanse between realms, their footfalls as soft as the whispers of the dead. The air around them shimmered with unstable energy, and the ground beneath their feet cracked with the reverberations of the Hollow King’s approach.

‎

‎The Womb of Stars loomed ahead—a massive, ethereal structure suspended within the heart of chaos. It wasn’t a building. It wasn’t a temple. It was something ancient, vast, and incomprehensible, its form shifting with every step they took. It seemed to breathe, a slow, rhythmic pulse that matched the beating of their hearts—their hearts, the hearts of rebels and gods alike.

‎

‎At the forefront of the group was the Twice-Killed Queen, her face cold but resolute. She held the shard of code that the Saint had entrusted to her—a fragment of Darius, or at least a part of what he once was. She could feel it thrumming with strange energy, almost alive in its own right.

‎

‎Beside her was the Nameless Twin, their eyes flicking between the horizon and the rest of the group. They didn’t trust the Saint’s plan. And neither did the Queen.

‎

‎But there was no other choice.

‎

‎Behind them, the Saint trudged forward, slow and deliberate. His vision had been clear—Darius had to be stopped. Before the Hollow King realized the full weight of what he had become. Before the rebellion was nothing more than forgotten ash.

‎

‎As they reached the gate—an impossibly tall archway of flickering light and shadow—there was a heavy silence. Even the war council halted, staring at the structure ahead.

‎

‎It wasn’t a gate. Not really. It was a fracture in reality, a tear in the fabric of the universe itself, pulsing with the energy of gods long dead.

‎

‎"This is it," the Queen whispered, holding the shard close. The energies from the Womb resonated through her skin, vibrating her bones. She shuddered involuntarily. "We break it now."

‎

‎The Nameless Twin stepped forward, their hand brushing against the air before the gate. The pulse of light and shadow responded, flickering like the dying breath of a star. A voice—no, many voices—whispered through the opening, a haunting, melodic chant that seemed to belong to another age, another reality.

‎

‎It was a song of creation. A song of destruction.

‎

‎"We’re too late." The Nameless Twin’s voice was sharp with realization. "It’s already waking."

‎

‎The Queen’s eyes narrowed. She clenched her fist around the shard, but there was no turning back. The only thing left to do was to step forward.

‎

‎They did. Together. But the instant they crossed the threshold, the air around them turned cold, almost suffocating.

‎

‎Then came the vision.

‎

‎A flash—a blinding light. A memory, not of a single person, but of the world itself.

‎

‎Darius.

‎

‎He stood alone at the heart of the Womb, his form now fully realized as the Hollow King. His eyes burned with cosmic fury, yet there was something else beneath that—something fragile. Human. A part of him still remained, and that fragment screamed for release.

‎

‎The world trembled as the gates of the Womb shuddered violently.

‎

‎The Womb of Stars was opening. But it wasn’t just the Womb that was awakening. The Devourer—that primal force—was stirring, drawn to the power of the Hollow King.

‎

‎The Womb began to crack, its surface splitting as if something was clawing through it from the other side.

‎

‎A deep rumbling shook the ground beneath their feet. The entire structure of the Womb seemed to buckle, its light flickering in desperate desperation as if it were fighting against the inevitable.

‎

‎"Move!" The Queen screamed, and the council scrambled forward.

‎

‎But even as they ran, the gates of the Womb—those gates of first light—began to close, trapping them within the crumbling, chaotic core.

‎

‎And something else began to stir.

‎

‎

‎The Queen’s boots hit the crystal ground hard as she charged forward, the walls of the Womb closing behind her with a thunderous hum. Around her, the others struggled to orient themselves, their senses overwhelmed by the brilliance and distortion of the divine core.

‎

‎The Womb was not a place.

‎

‎It was memory made manifest—shifting, singing, screaming.

‎

‎The walls were not walls. They were moments. Echoes of first love, first pain, the first god to cry out when birthed from stardust.

‎

‎"Stay together!" the Queen called.

‎

‎But they were already being pulled apart.

‎

‎Each rebel walked not beside the other but through corridors of their own making—drawn into private revelations etched in divine marrow. The Saint stumbled down a passage formed of weeping children and broken hymns. The Prophet’s eyes bled as she walked through fire that smelled of her dead sister’s perfume.

‎

‎And the Nameless Twin?

‎

‎They stood before a mirror of their own birth—watching as Darius, not yet divine, chose which of them would die in the cradle.

‎

‎

‎

‎Elsewhere, at the core...

‎

‎Darius stood unmoving. Alone.

‎

‎The Choir Crystal floated before him, singing softly in Maelistra’s voice—faint, almost broken. He felt it pull at something buried deep within him. Not power. Not vengeance.

‎

‎Guilt.

‎

‎Memories surged.

‎

‎A child in the dirt, begging the game not to end.

‎

‎A young man killing his first god and crying afterward, not because he regretted it—but because it felt right.

‎

‎A throne built of bones that smiled back at him.

‎

‎Darius blinked. The vision snapped.

‎

‎He turned his gaze toward the opening rift in the Womb. He could feel them now—the rebels, walking inside his birthright.

‎

‎A smile ghosted his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

‎

‎"They’re not here to stop me," he whispered. "They’re here to remember what I forgot."

‎

‎Behind him, Kaela emerged, her form veiled in strands of unbound chaos. The Rift still clung to her like a lover. She stepped close, resting a hand on his shoulder.

‎

‎"It’s almost time, my King," she said. "The final fusion requires no ritual. Just... clarity."

‎

‎He looked at her. "And if I lose that?"

‎

‎Kaela smiled. It was a smile full of ruin.

‎

‎"Then we all become gods the wrong way."

‎

‎

‎

‎Deep within the Womb...

‎

‎The Twice-Killed Queen stumbled into a vast chamber—glass and memory twisted into a throne room that had never existed. At the center stood a statue. No... not a statue.

‎

‎A vessel.

‎

‎It pulsed with raw power, shaped like a cradle. In it lay a figure—sleeping, swaddled in data, tendrils of creation feeding into its spine.

‎

‎A child.

‎

‎No older than ten.

‎

‎Its face—Darius.

‎

‎But pure. Untouched by death or betrayal. An echo of what he once was.

‎

‎The Queen’s breath caught in her throat. The shard of code in her hand pulsed wildly, screaming to rejoin its source.

‎

‎The Saint stumbled in behind her, panting, his robes torn.

‎

‎"It’s him. The first seed. The soul before war."

‎

‎She nodded.

‎

‎"We end it here."

‎

‎

‎But the Womb trembled again. The statue cracked.

‎

‎And behind it—descending in a shroud of darkness and twisted flesh—came something else.

‎

‎Not Darius.

‎

‎But born of him.

‎

‎A Shadow Crown without mercy. A fusion of void, regret, and wrath.

‎

‎Its mouth opened.

‎

‎It spoke not in words, but in truth:

‎

‎"You’re too late."

‎

‎And the gates behind them vanished into oblivion.

‎

‎

‎