The skies above the Abyssal Collective’s hidden fortress were in turmoil. Dark clouds, twisted and unnatural, swirled violently as if reality itself had bent to the will of something far greater than any mortal mind could comprehend. Beneath those clouds, the fortress of the Voidcallers stood tall—a symbol of power, secrecy, and untold darkness. Tonight, it would fall.

Zaros stood at the edge of this storm, his silhouette stark against the sky as lightning crackled around him. His black robes fluttered violently in the wind, yet he stood motionless, his hands clasped behind his back. The storm above was his doing, an extension of his wrath, a harbinger of the devastation to come. At his side, Rielin remained silent, her expression hard but betraying none of the apprehension that roiled inside her. The Abyssal Collective was about to be erased from the world, and it was Zaros who would ensure it.

Zaros's eyes gleamed as he gazed at the towering fortress ahead of them, his voice cutting through the howling wind like a razor. "There is an undeniable truth to power, Rielin. It does not care for morality, nor does it beg for justification. It simply is."

Rielin, standing rigid beside him, shifted slightly, her hand tightening on the hilt of her sword. "Do you find any satisfaction in this, my lord?" she asked, her voice low, almost as if she was asking herself the question.

Zaros gave a quiet chuckle, though it held no humor. His eyes remained on the fortress, watching as the Voidcallers began to scramble within its walls. “Satisfaction?” He paused, considering the weight of the word. “No, not in the way you might think. The destruction of this place, the end of these people—it is a necessary part of a much larger game. I do not revel in the deaths of these creatures, but their lives stand in the way of something greater.”

With a mere gesture, Zaros summoned the storm’s fury. Bolts of black lightning crashed down from the sky, slamming into the fortress walls with the force of a thousand siege engines. Stones shattered, and the Voidcallers within screamed as the first wave of death descended upon them. The sky above twisted, reality warping as Zaros’s power reached its crescendo.

“You see, Rielin,” Zaros continued as the storm raged, his voice unnervingly calm amidst the chaos, “I once believed power was a means to an end. That if I could simply accumulate enough, I could shape the world to my will and bend it to my desires.” He paused, his eyes narrowing as the fortress began to buckle under the weight of his assault. “But power… it’s an illusion, isn't it? A mirror reflecting back the darkness within us. The more I wield it, the more I realize it controls me.”

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Rielin glanced at him, momentarily startled by the admission. But there was no time for contemplation—Zaros had unleashed the second wave.

The air around them distorted as Zaros tore through space and time itself. Reality bent at his command, and the fortress collapsed in on itself, folding like a twisted puzzle. Voidcallers ran in terror, their bodies breaking apart under the weight of the magic that warped their perception. They clawed at their faces, trying to tear away the hallucinations that Zaros had planted in their minds. Some fell to their knees, crying out in horror as they saw their own limbs melt away, their flesh devoured by invisible flames.

Rielin, now accustomed to the brutality of Zaros’s power, took a step forward, her voice quiet but filled with respect. “And what do you desire now, my lord?”

Zaros’s eyes flickered with something darker, deeper. “Desire? I have none, not in the way mortals crave love, wealth, or pleasure. What I seek is beyond those things—transcendence. I will ascend beyond what this world understands as life or death. To achieve that… all must fall. Even I must fall.”

The Voidlord Nethros, the leader of the Abyssal Collective, stumbled out from the crumbling remains of his throne room. His once-proud figure was now trembling with fear, his eyes wide and filled with terror as he beheld the force that was Zaros. “Please!” Nethros cried, falling to his knees before the sorcerer. “I beg you—mercy!”

Zaros turned his gaze to the broken man, and for a moment, there was silence. His voice, when it came, was as cold as the void itself. “Mercy?” Zaros mused, his head tilting ever so slightly. “Do you know what mercy is, Voidlord? Mercy is the weakness of those who lack control. You, of all people, should know this.”

With a flick of his hand, Zaros lifted Nethros into the air, his body suspended like a puppet on invisible strings. “You manipulated reality, bent the Abyss to your will, and for what? To rule over these miserable creatures? Your ambition was small. Pathetic.” His voice dropped to a whisper, his eyes narrowing. “And so is your life.”

Nethros’s scream was cut short as his body imploded, collapsing in on itself until there was nothing left but a fine mist of blood and bone. Zaros turned away without a second glance, the Voidlord’s existence snuffed out as easily as a candle in the wind.

Rielin sheathed her blade, her eyes surveying the carnage. “They’ll remember this,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with awe. “The world will tremble at your name.”

Zaros’s gaze turned distant, his expression unreadable. “Let them tremble. Fear is the weapon of choice for those who do not understand true power.”

He raised his hand, the storm around them beginning to calm, the winds dying down as the last of the fortress collapsed into rubble. “But fear, Rielin,” he continued, his voice softer now, almost reflective, “is not what drives me. It’s not enough. No… what drives me is the knowledge that power, no matter how vast, is never complete. There’s always more. And it is only when we seek it, relentlessly, that we find the truth.”

“And what truth is that?” Rielin asked, her gaze fixed on him.

Zaros’s eyes darkened, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them. “That there is no end. Only the void.”

The silence that followed was as heavy as the destruction that surrounded them.