All gods, but one, had fallen. How tragic, yet predictable. The gods didn't die, of course. That would be far too clean, too final. No, they fell—crashed, really—into the abyss of their own twisted minds, stopped answering the endless drone of human prayers, and lost themselves to madness. All except for one. And no, it’s not me—I’m not the one who "died" and came back all ashamed and cowardly. That’s a story for another time, though. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. As for me? I’ve been here since the universe first yawned itself into existence, watching, waiting, and laughing at the folly of mortals and gods alike. The last one standing. Nocturnos, at your service.

Take Eadwitan, for instance, the so-called Church of Luminos. Once a beacon of light, but now it’s just a glorified tomb, filled with the echoes of prayers no one’s listening to anymore. You can almost hear the gods’ last gasps in those walls if you listen closely. Or maybe that’s just the sound of desperation. Hard to tell the difference these days.

And there she is, Katherine. Mortal, fragile, stubborn little Katherine. Standing outside that crumbling heap of stone they call a church, staring up at the statues of those so-called scholars and priests. Oh, the statues of those self-righteous clergymen, their stony eyes forever judging, forever condemning. You can almost hear them, can’t you? Their silent reproach bearing down on her, heavy as the night. They used to be something, didn’t they?

Katherine pulls her cloak tighter, the rough fabric scraping against her skin. The fabric’s rough, scratchy—just like reality. A little too real for comfort. But there’s no time for comfort now, is there? She inhales sharply. I can practically taste her fear, her heart pounding like a trapped bird in her chest. But she still looks up at that decaying facade, those crumbling relics of a forgotten faith, and thinks she can break the cycle. Adorable.

The legacy of those who came before her was a heavy one, men driven mad by their own curiosity, their own hunger for more. And here she was, standing on the edge of that same abyss. And then there’s that blade. Oh, I see it, even if she tries to keep it hidden. Eerie light, almost alive, promising answers she’s not ready to hear. Oh, Katherine. So brave, so foolish. Her hand trembled as she reached for it hidden beneath her cloak, its eerie light casting shadows that danced in the dark corners of her mind.

But she couldn’t falter. Not now, not ever. The path ahead was clear, even if it was paved with the bones of the fallen.

She steps into the church, the cold embrace of the place closing around her like a noose. The silence is almost suffocating, only broken by the soft shuffle of her feet against the ancient stone. Incense hangs thick in the air, an attempt to mask the scent of decay, both physical and spiritual. Every shadow seems to hold its breath, waiting for something—anything—to shatter the stillness.

As Katherine moves deeper into the church, she’s greeted by the silent sentinels of this fallen pantheon. Six statues, each a monument to a god who’s lost their way. Her gaze fell upon Mortis, the Bearer of the Final Embrace. How poetic. Her followers feared her, revered her, but in the end, even death couldn’t save her from her own madness. The skull-deer-headed figure loomed ominously, a dance of darkness that seemed to whisper of inevitable endings. It was as terrifying as it was mesmerizing, a haunting reminder of the fate that awaited everyone.

The statue’s hollow eye sockets followed her every move, an unseen gaze that pierced through her very soul.

Her fingers reached out, hovering just above Mortis' cold, stone leg. Touching it seemed like inviting the fate it represented. She whispered a prayer, hoping the ancient god of death might grant her some divine guidance. "Freá Albion, þū gangaþ beforan lǣddi Mortis, láca þīn dēaþ, stiernan mín stig." ( "Lord of Albion, you walk before Lady Mortis, may your spirit guide my path.")

Katherine's breath misted again as she approached the next statue—Gaia, the Elemental Architect. My dear Gaia. She was always the strongest, the most resilient. The sculptor had captured her with an otherworldly grace, merging the elements in a dance of earth, water, fire, and air. But even she couldn’t escape the creeping shadows that now curl at her feet, a reminder of the darkness that consumes all.

Drawn in by the enigmatic tranquillity of Gaia, it took Katherine a second to notice the shadows shifting ominously near the base of the statue. Her gaze slid toward the darkness pooling beneath the elemental figure, where tendriled forms began to uncoil. She stepped back, her heart quickening as the grotesque form of Cthonic Ichthyos, the Abyssal Devourer, came into view.

Katherine's hand instinctively reached for the hilt of the ethereal blade concealed behind her back. The dagger's glow was a comfort.

A grotesque abomination, a god who thrived on fear and chaos. There was a hunger in those sightless stone eyes, an endless void that mirrored the emptiness she sometimes glimpsed within herself—a darkness she fought to keep at bay.

Katherine’s hand grips the dagger tighter as she moves on, her eyes flitting to Arachnaea, the Curse Weaver, a fusion of woman and spider. The statue’s delicate limbs and dark exoskeleton created an unsettling, macabre beauty. How many lives did she ruin with her webs of deceit? Too many to count. And yet, here she stands, a frozen reminder that even the most intricate plans can unravel.

The statue of Sanguis, Master of the Wild Dominion, loomed nearby lying in pieces on the floor. It stood regal yet unnervingly still, its crimson fur and severed head a brutal testament to the violence of its end. His eyes wide in eternal shock. How ironic that the one who reveled in violence met such a brutal end. But there’s no time for pity. Katherine smirked at the sight, her grip tightening on her blade as she steeled herself for what lay ahead.

Finally, she reaches the altar. My altar. The golden statue that represents me, Nocturnos, the firstborn, the last. My form, adorned with the constellations of the cosmos, stands as a beacon of what true divinity looks like. No face, because why limit myself to one expression? I am all, I am everything, and I will endure long after these fools have been forgotten.

As Katherine creeps closer, her every breath betraying her fear, she hears the soft murmurs of Father Alexander’s prayers. Poor, blind Alexander. His faith, like his vision, is a relic of a time long past. He kneels before me, the last true god, whispering words that fall on ears that have heard it all before.

Katherine’s approach is slow, deliberate, every step a battle between her mortal resolve and the overwhelming power she faces. Alexander turns towards her, his blind eyes seeing nothing, yet somehow knowing everything. His face, etched with lines of devotion and doubt, meets hers. And in that moment, the weight of what is to come hangs heavy in the air.

He sensed Katherine’s presence and turned towards her, a mixture of sympathy and hesitation etched into his features. "Hwæt cōm þū hēr tō sēcenne, Katerine?" (What have you come here seeking, Katherine?) His voice rasped, breaking the heavy silence that draped over the church like a shroud.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Katherine’s hand tightened around the dagger, her voice barely a whisper as she replied, "The bōc... hīe mē ne helpodon. Ic þurfe witan mā." (The books... they didn’t help. I need to know more.)

The old priest’s lips twitched into a ghost of a smile, tinged with a hint of irony. "Bōca wīsdōm ne mæg ǣfre bēon genōh for þē, nē?" (Book wisdom was never enough for you, was it?) His words lingered in the air, as if aware of the paradox—that even now, another mind sought truth within pages, hoping for answers that could never truly satisfy.

"Nā, hit nǣs," (No, it wasn’t,) Katherine replied, frustration bleeding into her tone. "Ic hæbbe gesewen tō fela dēaþes, tō fela sāres. Ic cann nā lengc ǣmettig sittan and rǣdan." (I’ve seen too much death, too much pain. I can no longer sit idle and read.)

"Þīn fæder wæs blind tō his āgenum gewilnungum," (Your father was blind to his own desires,) Alexander interrupted, his voice sharp. "Swā swā þū eart nū." (As you are now.)

Katherine’s knuckles whitened as she tightened her grip on her cloak, eyes blazing with anger and sorrow. "Þū wǣre swā þēah æt līc-cyning. Hwæt þū ne mihtest hē þā eallunga stæþan?" (You were meant to guide him. Why could you not stop him?) Ah, the futile quest for accountability. To blame the old for the failings of the new.

The old priest’s shoulders sagged, a weary resignation enveloping him. "Ic sceolde. Ac ic wæs blind tō his giernesse, swā swā hē wæs blind tō his āgenum mōde." (I should have. But I was blind to his ambition, as he was blind to his own mind.)

"Ic ne eom blind!" Katherine retorted, her voice a dangerous whisper. "Ic gesēo hwæt þēos eorðe þearfaþ!" (I am not blind! I see what this land needs!)

Father Alexander’s voice softened, tinged with sorrow. "Þū gesihst ac þū ne ongitst. Þū eart gīet tō geong." (You see, but you do not understand. You are still too young.)

"Ic eom nā lengc þæt lȳtle mǣden þe þū cūðest." (I am no longer that little girl you knew,) Katherine replied, her tone defiant, refusing to be relegated to the past. The adolescent dreams of yesteryear have been replaced by the cold realities of today.

Alexander sighed deeply, as if the weight of the ages were upon him. "Þū þencst þū canst don hwæt þīn fæder ne mihte?" (You think you can do what your father couldn’t?) A question that carries the echo of every fallen deity’s doubt.

"Ic cann. Ic sceal." (I can. I must.) Katherine’s voice cracked slightly, revealing the immense burden of her self-imposed mission. Such confidence, such determination. It’s both inspiring and naïve.

"Þīn brōþor cwæð þæt ilce," (Your brother said the same,) Alexander murmured, his tone heavy with memory. A name that brings a visible flinch from Katherine, a painful reminder of what has been lost. The ghosts of family and fallen dreams cling to her like shadows.

"Ne sprec ymbe hine." (Don’t speak of him.) Katherine’s command is a plea wrapped in desperation, hiding a depth of pain beneath it. Her anguish is palpable, a stark contrast to Alexander’s calm acceptance of fate.

"Hwȳ? Ondræst þū þē þæt þū eart him gelīc?" (Why? Do you fear that you are like him?) An accusation and a fear all tangled together in one question.

"Ic eom nā gelīc him!" (I am not like him!) Katherine’s denial rings through the church, a desperate claim to her own individuality. “I hope,” she adds softly, as if wishing could make it so.

"Cildelic þōht," (Childish thinking,) Father Alexander murmured. "Þū wǣre swā geong þā þū ærest cōme hider. Hwæt canst þū ymbe þā frēcednysse þe þū sēcest?" (You were so young when you first came here. What do you know of the dangers you seek?)

"Ic hæbbe gesewen genōg," (I have seen enough,) Katherine’s voice cracks with the weight of her revelation. "Þā landes syndon tōworpene. Menn wendaþ tō dēorum. Ic mot þis gestillan." (The lands are ravaged. Men turn to beasts. I must stop this.)

Father Alexander stood slowly, his aged bones creaking with the effort. "And þū þencst þæt godcundnyss is þīn andswar? Þæt wæs þīnes fæder gedwola." (And you think divinity is your answer? That was your father's folly.)

"Min fæder..." Katherine hesitated, memories flooding back. "He dyde hwæt he þōhte wæs riht." (He did what he thought was right.)

"Gea, and hwær brōhte hit hine? Hwær brōhte hit ūs ealle?" (Yes, and where did it bring him? Where did it bring us all?) Alexander’s voice is tinged with sorrow.

Katherine’s grip on the dagger loosened slightly. "Ic ne cann þis geþolian lengc. Þā dēad, þā ærming..." (I cannot bear this any longer. The death, the suffering...) The agony of existence pressing down on her, a burden she feels compelled to relieve.

"And hwæt cūþest þū, fæder?" Katherine’s voice hardened again, her grip tightening on the dagger. "Hwæt hæfst þū gesewen mid þīnum blindum ēagum?" (And what did you know, father? What have you seen with your blind eyes?)

Father Alexander turned his face towards her, the metal blindfold gleaming in the dim light. "Ic hæbbe gesewen mā þonne þū canst ongitan, cild. Ic geseah þīnes fæder hryre, and nu ic geseō þīn." (I have seen more than you can comprehend, child. I saw your father’s downfall, and now I see yours.)

Katherine’s breath caught, and she felt a surge of conflicting emotions. She took a step back, the dagger still poised but her stance wavering. "Ic cōm hēr sēcan sibbe, nā feohtan." (I came here seeking peace, not to fight.)

"Þonne hwȳ cumst þū hider mid blōdegum wǣpne?" (Then why do you come here with a bloodied weapon?) Alexander’s question cuts through her resolve.

Katherine’s grip on the dagger loosened slightly. "For þām þe ic ne cann geseōn ōþerne weg." (Because I can’t see another way.)

"Þæt is þīn sōþe blind." (That is your true blindness.) Alexander’s voice is gentle now, a soft lament. "Þū gesihst ānne pæþ, ac þær sind ǣfre mā." (You see one path, but there are always more.)

A heavy silence fell between them. Katherine’s resolve wavered, her hand trembling on the dagger. "Ic ne cann..." (I can’t...)

"Þū canst," (You can,) Alexander insisted, his voice steady. "Ac þū scealt ǣrest forlǣtan þīne ege." (But first, you must let go of your fear.)

Katherine’s hand fell away from the dagger. "Hū mæg ic þæt dōn?" (How can I do that?)

"Þurh forgiefnesse," (Through forgiveness,) Alexander replied softly. "Ærest þīnes fæder, þīnes brōþor... and þonne þīn selfes." (First your father, your brother... and then yourself.)

A tense silence fell between them. Katherine’s hand trembled, the weight of her decision pressing down on her. The altar’s golden light seemed to flicker in sympathy with her struggle.

With a swift motion, Katherine drew the dagger. "Þū hæfst mē ǣfre geholpen, Alexander. Forgif mē." (You have always helped me, Alexander. Forgive me.) Her voice trembled with a mix of sorrow and resolve.

As the dagger plunged forward, Father Alexander’s last words were barely a whisper. "Ic forgife þē, cild. Ac hwæt forgifest þū þē silf?" (I forgive you, child. But can you forgive yourself?) A final act of grace before the inevitable.

The old man's body crumpled to the floor, his last breath a mixture of sorrow and understanding. As blood pooled around the fallen priest, Katherine stood motionless, the enormity of her actions washing over her. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she prepared for the next step in her dark journey.

Katherine knelt beside him, her gaze fixed on the altar as the blood pooled, becoming the catalyst for the ritual she had long prepared for. The air crackled with energy, the atmosphere heavy with the weight of ancient forces stirring from their slumber. Her voice, strong and unwavering, rang out through the church, a declaration of her intent.

"Nu, ic behealde Nocturnos mægen! Ēadmoda mē þā dȳstre gerihta, þā rīcu begeondan! Mid Fæder Alexanderes blōde, forgif mē þæt ieldeste mægen!" (Now, I behold the power of Nocturnos! Grant me the dark rites, the realms beyond! With Father Alexander’s blood, give me the ancient power!)

Ah, finally, a mortal who understands the power of a well-crafted ritual. And who else but I, Nocturnos, to grant such a request? The room trembled in response to her words, shadows dancing upon the walls, cast by unseen fires. A cacophony of whispers grew louder, resonating with ancient power that had long been dormant.

From the pool of blood, a luminous green stone emerged, its glow pulsating with an eerie, otherworldly light. It drifted through the air, drawn towards the golden statue on the altar, in all my dark glory, clutching the "Stone of Power."

As the ritual reached its zenith, a figure stepped from the shadows. Kaleth, ever the loyal follower, approached with reverence etched into every line of his face. His voice, soft yet filled with awe, carried the weight of their shared journey. "Anweald hæfþe se gesetnes, hlæfdige. Hwær wille wē nū gān?" (Power has found its bearer, my lady. Where will we go now?)

Katherine rose, the Stone of Power glowing in her grasp, its energy coursing through her veins, filling her with a sense of purpose and destiny. Her eyes, once clouded with doubt, now shone with fierce determination. The weight of her actions, the culmination of her journey, settled upon her.

"Sangrevor!"