"In every line, a tear; in every scene, a sigh. Let the inke flowe as the bloud of her tale, an elegie for the ages."

―AK

In the heart of Sparta, a city once vibrant with the indomitable spirit of its warriors, there now lay only the aftermath of a massacre. Blood soaked the earth, staining it crimson, as the lifeless bodies of Spartans lay strewn across the battlefield. The once proud city-state, where King Leonidas I had led his men with unyielding resolve, had now been reduced to a graveyard. Yet, amidst this desolation, one figure still stood tall.

King Leonidas I, donned in the godly armour bestowed upon him by Heracles, faced his doom with unwavering courage. His gaze met that of Setsuna Juliet Fuyukawa, the enigmatic Outer God known as the Coldhearted Genocide Setsuna. Her icy eyes were void of emotion as she raised her odachi, Uttermost Tragedy, to deliver the final blow. Her white hanbok fluttered gently in the breeze, a stark contrast to the carnage around her.

But just as the blade began its descent, a tear in reality itself opened above the battlefield. From the rift emerged an otherworldly presence, one that exuded chaos and malevolence. Azathoth, the ancient member of the Tenebris Monochrome, descended into Sparta, his orange hair wild and his eyes blazing with a madness that defied comprehension. Four of his lackeys, Zeus, Athena, Artemis, and Atlas, followed him through the portal, each exuding a powerful aura that warped the very fabric of the world.

Azathoth, holding the decapitated heads of King Xerxes I and Mardonius, flung them into the air with a laugh. The planet Jupiter, held aloft by Atlas, pulled the heads into its gravitational field, causing ripples of devastation on Earth. The presence of the gas giant in close proximity to the planet wreaked havoc on the natural order, and the oceans began to rise in tumultuous waves.

Zeus, cradling Gorgo in his arms, paid no heed to the chaos as he satisfied his primal urges. Athena and Artemis, locked in an intimate embrace, moaned with pleasure, their divine forms intertwined in a display of unbridled passion. Azathoth, with his chaotic sphere Cracky spinning erratically in his grasp, turned his gaze towards Setsuna, a twisted grin spreading across his face.

"Vok'tharr phlegorath!" Azathoth spat in the eldritch tongue, his voice a cacophony of discordant tones. "Tell me, Setsuna, what do you think of our newest member of the Tenebris Monochrome, Lumi'Nae? She, like you, possesses the power to unmake the very fabric of existence. Who knows? She may well be the Void Sovereign herself."

Setsuna's expression remained unreadable as she began to walk slowly toward Azathoth, her odachi held loosely in one hand. A suffocating white aura enveloped her, causing the gods and titan to falter, their bravado replaced with unease. Even the chaotic Azathoth felt a chill as she approached, the overwhelming power radiating from her causing his spiky hair to bristle.

Setsuna regarded Azathoth with her usual icy composure, her gaze as piercing as the edge of her blade. "Lumi'Nae, is it?" she inquired, her voice cold and measured. "The ability to unmake existence is hardly remarkable for a Void Incarnate. If she is indeed the Void Sovereign Ayame described, then I shall cleave her as effortlessly as I did the Master of the Deeps."

Azathoth's grin widened, but before he could respond, Leonidas I, fuelled by the rage of seeing his beloved wife desecrated by Zeus, charged forward. His spear, glowing with the power of the Nemean Lion, cut through the air as he aimed for Zeus, but Artemis and Athena intercepted him.

"Heracles' little puppet," Artemis sneered, her moonlight arrows aimed at the Spartan king. "You should have stayed in the shadows, where you belong."

Athena, her spear gleaming with divine power, joined her sister in mocking Leonidas. "Submit, mortal, and perhaps we'll let you lick our feet. Your demigod ancestor was nothing more than a lapdog to that human whore, Alcmene."

Leonidas's eyes burned with fury as he spun his Nemean Spear, deflecting Artemis' arrows. He leapt into the sky, his muscles straining with the force of his rage, and came crashing down upon Athena with the might of a god. Their shields collided with a thunderous crash, and the ground beneath them shattered from the impact.

"SPARTA!" Leonidas roared, unleashing his Nemean Combo upon Athena. The force of his blows drove her back, her divine spear clattering to the ground as she struggled to keep her Aegis raised. Each strike sent shockwaves through her body, numbing her limbs and sapping her strength.

"You think yourself strong, King of Men?" Athena taunted, though her voice wavered with the strain. "You are nothing more than a relic of a bygone era, clinging to the vestiges of a world that has already crumbled."

Leonidas glanced once more at Zeus, who continued his violation of Gorgo without a care. The Spartan king's heart burned with righteous fury as he bellowed a final war cry, his Super Spartan Kick surging with the sentient aura of a roaring Nemean Lion. The energy within the kick held the destructive potential to obliterate galaxies, and as Athena raised her Aegis in defence, the sheer force of the attack sent her flying towards Zeus.

Azathoth, still cackling with delight, caught Athena mid-flight by her groin, eliciting a startled moan from the goddess as he slapped her buttocks with a twisted grin. Zeus, his expression one of satisfied arrogance, sighed in pleasure as he tossed Gorgo to the ground, his task complete. He then turned to Leonidas, his expression smug.

Gorgo, her strength and resolve evident despite the dire circumstances, cast a glance toward her husband. With a steely gaze and a tone full of understated resilience, she said, "Do what you must, Leonidas."

Leonidas met her eyes with unwavering resolve, "I always do."

Zeus, revelling in his triumph and perverse satisfaction, commented, "As expected from my descendants—producing such high-quality women. I always feel as though I've aged backwards after our encounters. My cock"—he held it up with a boastful grin—"has grown the largest it's ever been. I nearly released powerful Thunder Sperms into her vagina. Leonidas, your wife's dungeon greedily squeezed all of my divine seed. With her or our daughters, a hero greater than Heracles is bound to emerge. His name shall be Kronaxios."

Leonidas locked eyes with Zeus, his stare unflinching and intense. The weight of his silent challenge seemed to unsettle Zeus.

After a moment of charged silence, Leonidas responded, "Enjoy it while it lasts."

Zeus, underestimating the mortal before him, casually fired a Lightning Beam in his direction. The beam of divine lightning scorched the earth, but Leonidas, fuelled by sheer will, charged through it without hesitation. Heracles' Hoplon shielded him from the worst of the blast as he closed the distance and, with a ferocious battle cry, slammed his shield into Zeus' face, shattering the god's teeth.

Azathoth's laughter died in his throat as he watched the spectacle unfold. Embarrassed by the pitiful display of his lackeys, he stepped forward, his chaotic aura intensifying. Leonidas, undeterred, unleashed his Raging Lion, aiming to impale the Outer God, but Azathoth caught the spear between his teeth, mocking the Spartan king with a feral grin.

"Is this all you have, mortal?" Azathoth taunted, his voice dripping with condescension. "You are but an ant beneath my boot, and yet you dare to challenge me?"

Leonidas, his resolve unbroken, roared with defiance and launched another Super Spartan Kick, the force of which could shatter worlds. But as his leg made contact with Azathoth, it was met with a surge of entropy, and the Spartan king's limb disintegrated into nothingness. Azathoth's laughter echoed across the battlefield as he revelled in the destruction he had wrought.

"Now, be a good little pet and eat your wife," Azathoth commanded with a sadistic grin, snapping his fingers as he transformed Leonidas into a grey-striped tabby cat. Gorgo, now a mouse, lay unconscious on the ground, unaware of her fate.

The cat Leonidas, driven by primal instinct and rage, leapt at Azathoth, sinking his teeth into the Outer God's face with the power of a Nemean Lion. Azathoth, unfazed by the attack, grabbed the cat and opened his mouth wide, revealing an eldritch maw filled with writhing tongues that licked at Leonidas, driving him into a frenzy.

But before Azathoth could devour his prey, Setsuna intervened, her darklight matter swirling around her like a tempest. With a single, graceful gesture, she sent Leonidas and Gorgo into another omniverse, saving them from the horrors that awaited them.

Azathoth's lackeys, enraged by the interruption, lunged at Setsuna, but a single glare from the Outer God stopped them in their tracks. The sheer force of her will caused them to retreat, their bravado shattered.

"Impressive," Azathoth said, clapping his hands in mock applause. "But let's see how you fare in a world of chaos!"

Azathoth's voice boomed through the void, his words unintelligible to mortal ears but carrying the weight of ancient and unfathomable power. With a wave of his hand, he expanded the Realm of Chaos, transforming their surroundings into a twisted version of Mount Olympus. The once-majestic peaks and valleys were now distorted and decayed, the very air thick with the suffocating stench of entropy. The sky above churned with chaotic energies, and the earth below seemed to rot beneath their feet. Azathoth's chant in the eldritch language reverberated through the realm, stripping the senses of the Greek gods and Atlas, leaving them with only the power of echolocation and the limitless potential of the Chaos Realm.

Zeus, the king of the gods, his eyes burning with rage and his mouth now a grimace of jagged, broken teeth, was the first to strike. "By th' might o' Olympus, y' shall fall!" he roared, his words somewhat garbled. Summoning the full force of his lightning, he unleashed his ultimate attack—Keraunos Astrape, a storm of lightning bolts so intense that each one could incinerate entire worlds. The bolts converged on Setsuna, turning the night into day with their blinding light.

Athena, goddess of wisdom and war, followed swiftly behind. "You face not only strength but strategy!" she declared, summoning Phronesis Aegis, a shield of divine knowledge that absorbed the surrounding chaos and turned it into a weapon. She launched a barrage of spears formed from pure wisdom and infused with the chaos of the realm, each one aimed to exploit even the smallest weakness in Setsuna's defences.

Artemis, goddess of the hunt, did not hesitate. "Feel the wrath of the eternal huntress!" she cried, her voice cold and resolute. She called upon Nyx Skotos, the darkness of the night itself, which wrapped around her arrows, turning them into projectiles that could pierce through any illusion or barrier, each arrow seeking Setsuna's heart with the accuracy of a thousand hunts.

Atlas, the Titan burdened with the weight of the heavens, let out a thunderous roar as he hurled Jupiter towards Earth with the strength that only a Titan could muster. "I shall crush you under the weight of worlds!" he bellowed, his voice a mixture of fury and desperation. The planet hurtled towards Setsuna, its mass and velocity enough to annihilate entire dimensions.

The gods and Titan did not relent. Their combined might, enhanced by the Chaos Realm, was enough to bring even the strongest of beings to their knees. Yet, Setsuna was not fazed. She moved with the grace and precision of a seasoned warrior, her mastery of the Tragick Sworde Style and her darklight matter allowing her to parry and counter every assault with ease.

As Zeus's storm bore down upon her, Setsuna's icy eyes glinted with determination. "Your lightning lacks the will to strike me down." She raised Uttermost Tragedy and sliced through the storm, dissipating it into nothingness. Zeus's eyes widened in shock as Setsuna closed the distance in an instant, slashing him down with a single, elegant stroke. His divine form crumbled, reduced to mere sparks in the wind.

Athena's spears of wisdom were next, their trajectories flawless. "Your intellect is impressive," Setsuna remarked, "but insufficient." She weaved through the barrage with an almost supernatural ease, her odachi cutting through the spears as if they were mere illusions. With a final swing, she severed Athena's Aegis, and the goddess of wisdom fell, her body collapsing into a sea of chaos.

Artemis loosed her arrows, each one seeking its mark with deadly precision. "The hunt ends here," Setsuna said coolly. She deflected each arrow with her index finger, the arrows disintegrating as they made contact with her darklight matter. In a flash, she was upon Artemis, her blade finding its mark before the goddess could even react. Artemis's form dissolved, merging with the darkness she once commanded.

Setsuna, with a calm and indifferent expression, leapt into the sky. She tapped the oncoming planet with the hilt of her odachi, Uttermost Tragedy, sending it spiralling out of the realm with a flick of her wrist before it could implode and cause irreparable damage.

Atlas, watching the fall of his comrades, bellowed in rage and desperation. "I will not fall as they did!" He swung his colossal fists, each one capable of shattering mountains, but Setsuna parried the blows with the slightest touch of her blade, each parry sending shockwaves through the realm. With one final, devastating slash, she cut through the Titan's form, leaving him to crumble under the weight he once bore.

The air was thick with the scent of blood and ozone, remnants of the divine energies that had collided and dissipated into the void. Setsuna stood amidst the carnage, her icy eyes reflecting the pale moonlight, which had turned the battlefield into a scene of haunting beauty. The once-mighty gods of Olympus, now mere echoes of their former selves, lay broken at her feet. Yet, there was no satisfaction in her gaze—only the cold, indifferent expression of one who had long since surpassed the trivialities of gods and mortals alike.

From the shadows, Hades, Lord of the Underworld, emerged, his presence a dark silhouette against the twisted remnants of Mount Olympus. Clad in the Helm of Darkness and wielding the Pentadent of the Underworld, he loomed over the battlefield like a predator biding its time. His voice, thick with both reverence and malice, echoed through the desolate peaks.

"So, this is what remains of the vaunted gods of Olympus—a pitiful collection of broken bodies and shattered souls. How far you have fallen, Zeus, Athena, Artemis... all of you. And yet, there is power here, power that shall be mine."

With a guttural incantation, Hades began to draw the essence of the fallen gods into himself. Their corpses convulsed as their power was syphoned away, leaving them as empty shells. As his strength swelled, Hades turned his gaze towards Azathoth, who watched with a mix of amusement and disdain.

Hades then touched Atlas's corpse with his pentadent, using it as a catalyst to summon a monstrous, armoured Cerberus, its form wreathed in flames from the Underworld. He sneered, directing his words at Azathoth.

"You, who fancy yourself a god of chaos, are nothing more than a festering wound upon reality. I will grind you to dust, as I have done to my own kin."

Azathoth's expression twisted with contempt. "Hades, you worm," he spat. "Your attempts to assert dominance with your pathetic underworld creations only highlight your ignorance of the true expanse of chaos. I will dissolve your illusions and ambitions in the crushing void of my power."

Cerberus, furious at being summoned by Hades, turned on his master, but Hades quickly teleported the beast beside Azathoth. The mighty creature lunged, its jaws engulfed in flames from the Underworld, clamping down on Azathoth with fury. The other heads barked, their sound reverberating through the realm. But then, as if sensing its own demise, Cerberus suddenly halted, the overwhelming presence of Azathoth's unsuppressed Cosmic Dread for a fraction of a second driving it into hiding, believing itself to be dead.

Undeterred, Hades accelerated his speed, stopping time using the power of Kronos. With this advantage, he stabbed Azathoth in the back with the pentadent and hissed, "Drown in the Five Rivers of the Underworld, you abomination!" A torrent of water, along with the soul of Persephone, surged into Azathoth's body through the pentadent before it shattered.

Inside Azathoth, Persephone's spirit, now empowered by Hades, Demeter, Apollo, and the collective might of Greek mythology, conjured an infernal Underworld of her own making, with pomegranate trees rooted in Azathoth's flesh. She planted Kronos' Harpe into one of the trees and sat upon a wide branch, her eyes closed in prayer. The trees, nourished by Persephone's power and Azathoth's essence, grew rapidly, their growth driven by Kronos' relentless will to overthrow the latter.

Despite Hades wielding a more potent iteration of Kronos' powers, Azathoth's back opened like a grotesque maw, disgorging cursed waters that cascaded towards Hades. The impact was instantaneous: Hades succumbed to the deathly waters, only to be resurrected moments later, his form reconstituted but still reeling from the encounter.

Though Hades had prided himself on his immunity to such infernal rivers, he realised too late that Azathoth had insidiously altered their properties. The cursed waters, now bearing unknown and sinister qualities, had bypassed his defences.

In his desperation, Hades extended six pomegranate seeds, a token of his last resort to reach out to Persephone's soul, which he could not sense within Azathoth's inscrutable form. His attempt to communicate with her, however, was fraught with uncertainty and urgency, as the very nature of the void defied his comprehension.

Azathoth's voice cut through the tension. "What's wrong, Hades? Feeling nervous?"

Hades, holding the six pomegranate seeds tightly, awaited Persephone's reply. When it finally came, her voice was distant and detached.

"I never loved you," Persephone's voice echoed, faint and removed. "I've often wondered what my life might have been like if I hadn't turned away from Apollo."

Her tone softened slightly as she continued, "But I can't bring myself to hate you. Your kindness, though rare among the Greek gods, hasn't gone unnoticed. And I do appreciate your love for our daughter, Melinoe."

There was a pause, and her voice grew more sorrowful. "But your connection to the Underworld... I've always despised that place. I wish things could have been different."

With a final, resolute farewell, she concluded, "Goodbye, Hades." The six pomegranate seeds in Hades' hand withered and died, their vitality fading with the weight of her words.

Bones erupted from Azathoth's mouth as he mocked Hades. "Be thankful, Hades, that I allowed Persephone to convey her intended message. I even went so far as to impersonate you and present myself before her. Naturally, my message was delivered with the utmost courtesy:

Persephone, you wretched fool. Remember the time I took you against your will? I seized you from your mother's side, dragged you to the Underworld, and forced you to become my queen. Your resistance was futile, and you were nothing but a pawn in my game. And let us not forget the moment I took what I wanted, regardless of your pleas."

He paused, a cruel glint in his eyes. "Her reaction was one of sheer astonishment."

Hades clenched his fists, his rage palpable. "You're lying. She was a strong and compassionate woman—she wouldn't have believed your vile deceptions!"

Azathoth chuckled darkly. "I have my methods for shattering minds. I reenacted your grand battle with her. Unlike you, I was merciful, though we are fundamentally different. In the end, she was overwhelmed by the very trees she had nurtured. A tragic fate for one so noble. I trust you're aware of the malevolence of those trees." His voice oozed with insincere sympathy.

"Enough!" Hades roared, seizing Azathoth in a final, desperate embrace. "I'll drown you in the souls of Tartarus!" he vowed, amplifying his action with Kronos' control over time. "Persephone, my beloved wife, would never have fallen to an idiot like you! She would never betray me. She loved me! I know it with all my heart!"

But as the torrent of souls surged forth, one soul broke free, materialising into a towering figure—Typhon, the Dragon of Delirium. His presence was imposing, a massive and muscular man with tanned skin that highlighted his rugged, formidable appearance. His spiky red hair and burning red eyes conveyed an aura of raw power and ancient rage. He wore a half-red, half-black trench coat that billowed dramatically as he moved. His scars, etched diagonally across his face, added to his menacing presence.

Azathoth, dismissing Hades' attack, addressed Typhon with a casual familiarity. "My favourite grandson. How would you like to serve as the Guardian of my Chaos Realm? This is your final chance to join me. Surely, you wouldn't prefer a return to Tart'Kralis, would you?"

Typhon scoffed. "I refuse to serve anyone, just as my old man did. Being imprisoned in a fragment of his realm only strengthened me. Left with nothing but time, I trained and fought relentlessly. And you, Hades," he turned, glaring at the Underworld's ruler, "acting so recklessly, challenging Chaos and getting your wife killed for naught. Have you lost your mind? That swordswoman would have slain this bastard anyway." He nodded towards Setsuna, who was sifting through the debris.

Despite Typhon's scathing words, Hades remained undeterred. Driven to madness by grief and Azathoth's influence, he persisted in his futile assault, clinging desperately to Azathoth as he sent more depraved souls towards the Outer God. "Chaos!" he bellowed, his voice quaking with both fury and despair. "Kill me if you can! I will not cease until I see you dead!"

Typhon's expression shifted to one of contempt as he observed the scene. "You should have known better than to meddle with forces you cannot control."

Azathoth, phasing through Hades' hold, finally decided it was time to end this farce. Raising his hand, he materialised a conductor's baton. With a flourish, he began conducting an invisible orchestra, and the unsettling melody of The Rite of Spring filled the air, each note bringing forth an act of violence upon Hades. Organs were ripped from his body with grotesque precision, matching the rhythm of the music. Hades, the once-proud ruler of the Underworld, was reduced to a quivering mass, unable to stop the relentless onslaught.

As the final note echoed into silence, Hades collapsed, his body barely held together by sheer will. Azathoth cast him aside with a dismissive gesture, the remnants of Hades' power dissipating into the ether, leaving nothing but a hollow husk.

Typhon, irritated by the unnecessary loss of life, gestured towards Setsuna. "Look over there, you ancient relic. If you're keen on being smashed from both sides, be my guest. Otherwise, you'd do well to pick your battles carefully unless you want to find yourself outnumbered and overwhelmed."

Azathoth, amused by Typhon's defiance, chuckled. "You still have spirit, despite losing to me twice. But very well." He turned to Setsuna, who had been sitting on the edge of Mount Olympus, her back to the chaos. She had found Poseidon's Fishing Rod among the debris and was calmly fishing in the ocean that was rising to consume the world.

"Setsuna," Azathoth sneered, "you sit there like a fool, playing with a trinket while the world crumbles around you. There are no fish in that ocean, only the echoes of your own emptiness. You may be an enigma, but you're still a simpleton."

Without warning, Azathoth lunged at her, his Chaos Sphere pulsating with violent energy that distorted reality itself. Setsuna reacted instinctively, her movements fluid and precise. She spun around and delivered a devastating elbow strike to Azathoth's chest, denting his supposedly indestructible Chaos Armour and crushing his internal organs, forcing him to stagger back in shock.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Her eyes flashed with a cold, deadly light as she pulled Poseidon's Fishing Rod from the ocean and, with a swift motion, impaled Azathoth's head. Then, she cast him into the roiling sea below.

Azathoth's body was quickly swallowed by the waves, but moments later, he emerged, fully regenerated. A third eye, glowing with an eerie orange light, had opened on his forehead. The true battle had only just begun.

The two Outer Gods clashed in a titanic struggle that sent shockwaves rippling across the cosmos. Azathoth unleashed his full arsenal of reality-warping powers, attempting to erase Setsuna from existence with a flick of his will. But each attempt only served to empower her, as her darklight matter absorbed and nullified the attacks. Frustration began to show on Azathoth's face, his eldritch features twisting in a mix of rage and desperation.

With a roar, Azathoth enhanced his Chaos Sphere and split it into countless copies, each one a miniature sun of entropy and destruction. He launched them all at Setsuna in a relentless barrage, a chaotic storm of celestial fire and cosmic decay. The attacks blurred the line between ranged and melee combat, creating a maelstrom of destruction that seemed to defy the very fabric of reality. Yet, Setsuna moved with a grace that belied the intensity of the battle, her every motion a deadly dance of precision and power.

As she prepared to deliver her ultimate technique, the Shinken Tsubame Mai, a sudden, overwhelming surge of power coursed through her body. It was as if all the chaos, all the destruction, and all the power of the Outer Gods had converged within her at that moment. She dropped to her knees mid-swing, the incomprehensible force of her cancelled attack sending Azathoth and his Chaos Spheres hurtling through the air. The top of Azathoth's indestructible armour shattered, and all but one of the Chaos Spheres disintegrated into nothingness.

Setsuna screamed, a sound that reverberated through the omniverse and beyond. Her Outer God powers were running amok, causing catastrophic destruction on a scale that defied comprehension. Entire layers of reality and existence were being torn apart by the sheer force of her unleashed power.

Azathoth, sensing his own impending doom, desperately seized the last remaining Chaos Sphere and swallowed it whole. His form began to twist and contort, the remnants of his humanoid shape giving way to his true eldritch nature. His body expanded, muscles bulging and rippling with unearthly power. Three large horns erupted from his head, curving menacingly into the void. He became a monstrous, hulking figure, a manifestation of pure chaos and destruction.

With a final, frantic gesture, Azathoth unleashed his ultimate attack—Nuclear Terminal Entropy. It was an explosive wave of orange energy that radiated outward in a cataclysmic nova. The wave carried with it the very essence of entropy, tearing apart the fabric of reality itself as it expanded, threatening to consume everything in its path, including Setsuna.

But it was too late. Setsuna's powers, now fully unleashed and transcendent, absorbed the chaotic energy of the explosion. The wave, which should have unravelled the cosmos, was swallowed by the chaos that Setsuna had become. Azathoth was caught within the maelstrom of his own attack. The explosive energy turned against him, enveloping his monstrous body in a cascade of destruction.

Azathoth cursed the Primordial Void, damning Her for creating beings that could surpass even him, the oldest and most powerful of the Outer Gods. "Damn you all!" he roared, his voice echoing with the fury of a being condemned. His anger and frustration were palpable as he attempted to take the world with him in a final act of spite. But before he could do so, his own body betrayed him. Eldritch blades, forged from the very chaos he had once controlled, erupted from within him, tearing through his grotesque form.

His expression twisted from fury to pure terror as the blades mercilessly impaled him. The once-mighty Azathoth, who had embodied chaos itself, found himself being consumed by the very forces he had unleashed. His form began to dissolve into nothingness, disintegrating under the weight of the primordial chaos that now overwhelmed him. The void he had once ruled so indifferently now claimed him completely, leaving only the echoes of his futile resistance as he faded into oblivion.

The blades, having done their work, vanished into the void, leaving behind no trace of Azathoth. The battlefield fell silent, save for the gentle lapping of the rising ocean against the shattered remains of Mount Olympus.

Typhon, with a scowl, slapped Cerberus across the face in a desperate attempt to snap him out of Azathoth's madness. "Get your shit together, Cerby!" he commanded. When Cerberus awoke, furious, he bit Typhon's hand. Typhon responded with a harder slap, knocking the beast unconscious once more. With a grimace, Typhon took out two cigars and lit them with magma from his finger, placing them in his mouth. He then took out three more cigars, lit them, and placed them in Cerberus' mouths before gently petting the unconscious beast.

Setsuna, still on her knees, slowly regained control over her powers. The destruction subsided, and the omniverse began to heal from the devastation she had wrought. She sat at the edge of the mountain once more, gazing out at the horizon where the ocean met the sky.

Her thoughts were distant, her mind filled with memories of a past life. A time when she had been Juliet Capulet, a girl who had known love and despair, who had once believed in the simplicity of mortal emotions. But that life was long gone, buried beneath the weight of her existence as an Outer God.

The rain fell softly on the Capulet family tomb, a gentle, persistent drizzle that seemed to mourn the loss of life that had occurred within. Juliet Capulet, once dead by her own hand, now stood alone among the dead. The dagger she had used to end her life was still clutched in her hand, its blade slick with her own blood. Yet, the wound in her chest had healed, leaving no trace of the mortal injury that had claimed her.

The silence was deafening, broken only by the sound of the rain tapping against the stone. Juliet stared at the dagger, her mind a whirlwind of confusion and fear. How had she survived? What force had brought her back to this world, only to leave her standing in the midst of death and despair?

As she pondered these questions, an inexplicable urge began to rise within her. A dark, insidious desire that gnawed at her soul, urging her to do something she could not comprehend. Her heart, once filled with love and sorrow, now pulsed with a cold, unrelenting need to destroy.

She stepped out of the tomb and into the rain, her once-innocent eyes now clouded with the darkness that had taken root in her heart. The city of Verona, unaware of the horror that was about to befall it, slept peacefully beneath the stormy sky.

Juliet moved through the streets like a spectre, her footsteps silent and her presence unnoticed. The dagger in her hand gleamed with a macabre light, reflecting the inner turmoil that now consumed her. The once-bustling streets of Verona seemed eerily quiet, as if the city itself held its breath in anticipation of the coming storm. Juliet's heart beat in rhythm with the pounding rain, a steady thrum of dark intent that guided her steps.

She wandered aimlessly at first, her mind struggling to grasp the enormity of what she had become. The memories of her past life, of her love for Romeo, and of the bitter feud that had torn their families apart, were now mere whispers in the vast void that had swallowed her soul. She was no longer Juliet Capulet, the tragic maiden of Verona; she was something far more terrifying—an entity forged from the despair and hatred of her former self.

As she walked, the rain intensified, turning the cobblestone streets into rivers of water that swirled around her feet. Her once-vibrant dress, now soaked through, clung to her body, a reminder of the life she had left behind. But Juliet was beyond caring; her thoughts were consumed by the insatiable hunger that had taken root within her.

The first to cross her path was a guard, a man whose duty was to protect the citizens of Verona from harm. He spotted her wandering alone in the rain, a fragile figure seemingly lost and in need of help. With a kind smile, he approached her, his concern evident in his eyes.

"Are you lost, young lady? What are you doing out here all alone on a night like this?" he asked, his voice gentle.

Juliet did not respond. She simply stared at him, her eyes devoid of emotion. The dagger in her hand gleamed once more, and before the guard could react, she struck. The blade slid effortlessly into his chest, piercing his heart with a gut-wrenching squelch. The guard gasped in shock, his eyes wide with disbelief as he stumbled backward, clutching at the wound.

"Why...?" he managed to choke out, his voice weak and trembling.

Juliet said nothing. She watched impassively as the life drained from his eyes, the guard's body collapsing to the ground with a dull thud. The blood that pooled around him was a stark contrast to the rain, dark and viscous, a witness to the life she had so callously extinguished.

As the guard's life ebbed away, something within Juliet awakened—a dark, primal force that surged through her veins like wildfire. The act of taking a life had ignited a spark within her, feeding the void that had consumed her soul. She felt alive in a way she had never experienced before, the thrill of power coursing through her like a drug.

With each step, the darkness within her grew, twisting her thoughts and warping her perception of the world around her. The city of Verona, once a place of love and tragedy, now appeared to her as nothing more than a playground for her newfound power. She could feel the presence of its inhabitants, their fragile lives flickering like candles in the wind, and she knew that she could snuff them out with a mere thought.

Driven by this dark impulse, Juliet continued her rampage through the streets of Verona. Her victims fell one by one, their lives ended with the same cold efficiency that she had shown the guard. Some she killed swiftly, while others she toyed with, drawing out their suffering for her own twisted pleasure. The rain, once a gentle drizzle, had become a torrential downpour, washing away the blood that stained the streets but unable to cleanse the darkness that had taken hold of Juliet's heart.

As the night wore on, Juliet found herself standing before the Capulet mansion, the place she had once called home. The sight of it stirred something deep within her—a glimmer of the girl she had once been. But it was quickly extinguished by the overwhelming tide of darkness that had become her new reality. She approached the grand entrance, her footsteps echoing in the empty courtyard.

Inside, the mansion was eerily quiet. The servants had long since retired for the night, leaving the halls deserted. Juliet moved through the familiar corridors with a sense of detachment, her mind focused solely on the task at hand. She made her way to the grand ballroom, where her family had once hosted lavish parties and celebrations.

There, standing alone in the centre of the room, was her father, Lord Capulet. He was a man who had once been a towering figure of authority in her life, a man whose love for his daughter had been overshadowed by his pride and stubbornness. But now, as he stood before her, he seemed smaller, diminished by the weight of his own grief.

"Juliet?" he whispered, his voice trembling with disbelief as he recognised his daughter standing before him, soaked to the bone and clutching a bloodied dagger. "Is it really you? How...? I thought you were dead..."

Juliet stared at him, her expression unreadable. The memories of her past life, of the love she had once held for her father, were distant echoes, drowned out by the darkness that consumed her. She felt nothing for the man who had once been her protector, her guide. All that remained was the hunger—the insatiable need to destroy, to annihilate the world that had betrayed her.

Without a word, she advanced on her father, the dagger gleaming in her hand. Lord Capulet's eyes widened in horror as he realised her intent, but it was too late. The blade struck with unerring precision, finding its mark in his heart. He gasped, his hands grasping at the wound as he stumbled backward.

Lord Capulet, his strength fading and eyes dimming, whispered with a mixture of disbelief and heartbreak, "Juliet... my own flesh and blood... why have you done this? What darkness has consumed the light in your heart?" His voice trembled as he struggled to comprehend the transformation of his once-beloved daughter, a tear forming in the corner of his eye as he sought an answer he could never truly understand.

But Juliet offered no answer. She simply watched as her father crumpled to the ground, his life ebbing away. The hunger within her was sated, if only for a moment, as she stood over the body of the man who had once meant everything to her.

The mansion was silent once more, save for the sound of the rain pounding against the windows. Juliet was alone in the grand ballroom, surrounded by the ghosts of her past. The darkness within her had fully taken hold, transforming her into a creature of pure malice and destruction. The grand ballroom, where laughter once echoed, now bore the lifeless body of Lord Capulet, his blood mingling with the rain seeping through the cracks in the ceiling. Juliet stared at her father's corpse, yet felt nothing—no grief, no sorrow, not even satisfaction. She had crossed a threshold, and the person she once was had been left behind in a pool of crimson.

"Is this truly all that remains of me?" Juliet mused, her voice barely more than a whisper. She turned towards the shattered windows, where the storm raged with a fury that mirrored her own inner turmoil. "I thought there would be more... but solace, it seems, is forever beyond my reach."

As she contemplated the emptiness inside her, a strange presence washed over the room—a ripple in the very fabric of reality. The temperature dropped, and the atmosphere became thick with an otherworldly energy. Suddenly, a figure appeared, leaning nonchalantly on the balustrade as though she had always been there.

The girl, no more than seventeen, had long, silky black hair styled in a traditional hime cut, her eyes as dark and deep as the abyss. She wore a pitch-black school uniform that contrasted sharply against the pale light of the storm. In her hand, she held a particular tome—the Illyria Shakespeare edition of Romeo and Juliet. She flipped through its pages with an air of casual authority, finally settling on a passage.

"O, then I perceive that Queen Mab hath been with thee..." she recited, her voice calm and almost musical. She paused, letting the words linger in the air before continuing. "She is the midwife of the fairies, and she cometh in a shape no larger than an agate-stone..."

Juliet's eyes narrowed as she regarded the newcomer. "Who are you, and why do you intrude upon this night?"

The girl closed the book with a soft thud, then turned her gaze towards Juliet. "We art Ayame Kurohime," she declared, her tone regal and composed. "The Unnamable, yet thou mayest address us as Ayame. We art here to observe and perchance... to guide thee."

Ayame's words were cryptic, but before Juliet could press further, another presence made itself known. The air around them seemed to distort, and the very gravity of the Earth began to waver. Objects floated, the rain ceased to fall, and then, as if on command, all of humanity outside the mansion was transformed into writhing worms. The source of this chaos was a towering figure that appeared next to Ayame, a being of unfathomable power whose mere existence caused reality to warp and shudder—Azathoth, the Blind Idiot God.

Azathoth's voice rumbled through the dimensions, his tone apologetic yet distant. "Forgive me, Ineffable One. It seems I have once again overstepped. My powers act without conscious thought. I... am not accustomed to taking form."

Ayame, unperturbed by the chaos, nibbled on a dark chocolate Pocky as she responded. "Fret not, Azathoth. Thou art but a child in this form, still learning to contain thyself." She flicked her fingers, and the destruction slowed, the effects of Azathoth's power becoming more contained. She then sat on the balustrade, as though this scene was the most natural thing in the world. "Wouldst thou care for a Pocky?" she offered, holding the box out to Juliet.

Juliet hesitated, then took the chocolate-covered stick, savouring its taste as though it were the first real thing she had experienced in ages. The sweetness contrasted sharply with the bitterness that had come to define her existence.

Ayame regarded Juliet with a serene expression. "Azathoth hath grown vulnerable and dull since we made him tangible and showed that we were ne'er rivals. A pity, truly." She let out a soft sigh, as if recalling a fond memory. "He is no longer the force of chaos we once knew. Tell me, Juliet, what dost thou see in this world now that thou hast torn thyself from it?"

Juliet, ever the pragmatist, replied without missing a beat, "I see a world that no longer holds any meaning for me. If I were to ask, would you tell me what it is that you want from me?"

Ayame's lips curled into a faint smile. "We art here to offer thee a choice. We could grant thee power beyond omnipotence, shouldst thou desire it—enough to shape thine own destiny, free from the influence of Shakespeare, thy creator." She glanced at the book in her hand, then continued, "But first, know this: thy world is but a shadow of a greater reality, a lower order in an omniverse where the Bard himself doth reside."

Juliet, her mind adapting quickly to these revelations, asked with an unsettling calm, "Does this mean I am not real? That I never truly existed?"

Ayame shook her head slightly. "Existence is relative, dear Juliet. Thou art as real as the emotions thou hast felt, as the blood thou hast spilled. Thou art but a character in Shakespeare's tale, yet thou art more than mere ink on parchment. Thou hast the potential to transcend this narrative and forge a new path."

Juliet pondered this for a moment, then asked, "What will happen if I refuse your offer?"

Ayame's eyes glinted with a knowing look as she licked the last of the chocolate from her Pocky stick. "If thou refuseth, thou shalt remain as thou art—an observer of a world that hath ceased to matter to thee. Thou shalt be free to wander in thy disillusionment, watching the remnants of thy existence crumble, but with no further influence or agency."

Juliet looked out over the balcony, her gaze sweeping across the desolate expanse of her world. The storm outside seemed to echo her inner turmoil, the tempest a fitting backdrop to her conflict. After a long silence, she turned back to Ayame, her resolve crystallising. "Very well. If the choice is between remaining a pawn in a discarded narrative or wielding power to shape my own destiny, I choose the latter. I will accept your offer."

Azathoth, who had been silently observing, finally spoke. "This is perilous, Ineffable One. You bestow omnipotence as if it were nothing, yet only I should stand as second to you."

Ayame turned her gaze towards him, her expression unreadable. "Tell me, Azathoth, why dost thou fear me so, yet still linger in our presence, serving as our butler?"

Azathoth hesitated, then replied with an edge of existential dread in his voice. "Ever since you humbled me, I no longer view existence with mere cosmic indifference. Now, there is dread—a realisation that I am not as I once thought. What happens if I perish?"

Ayame's voice was soft, almost compassionate. "Death is but a meaningless concept to us. Others handle such matters, yet shouldst thou perish, we shall revive thee, perchance as a maiden. Thou wouldst then be our maid, wouldst thou not?" She laughed softly. "But as long as we endure, so too shall the worlds. Changes will come and go, yet the power and authority of the Primordial Void remain constant."

Turning back to Juliet, Ayame extended her hand, a gesture that seemed to ripple through the very fabric of reality. "Then, Juliet, accept this shard of our power. With it, thou shalt transcend thy narrative confines and forge a destiny of thine own making. Art thou ready to embrace this path?"

Juliet hesitated for a moment, her heart pounding with the gravity of the decision. The weight of countless possibilities seemed to press upon her shoulders, a tangible reminder of the momentous choice before her.

Taking a deep breath, she grasped Ayame's hand. A surge of power coursed through her being, overwhelming and profound. She closed her eyes briefly, allowing the sensation to fully envelop her.

"I am ready," Juliet said with newfound determination.

Juliet's form, once fragile and human, began to shimmer and dissolve, morphing into something far more potent. The transformation was swift and absolute: her body condensed into a gleaming odachi, its blade dark and foreboding, exuding an aura of unparalleled power. Beside the newly formed sword, a young woman materialised—a striking figure with long, snow-white hair and eyes as cold as the abyss. She was clad in a pristine white militaristic uniform, an officer's cap perched atop her head, and a blue coat draped over her shoulders like a regal cape.

The woman's expression was stoic, her demeanour calm and resolute. Without a hint of emotion, she addressed Ayame, her voice clear and direct. "Juliet is dead. Give me a new name."

Ayame's lips curved into a gentle smile, her eyes reflecting a hint of approval. "Very well. From this moment forth, thou shalt be known as Setsuna Fuyukawa. Setsuna signifies a fleeting moment, a reflection of thy transient yet profound existence. Fuyukawa means river of winter, embodying the unyielding, icy resolve that defines thee."

Before Setsuna could fully embrace her new identity, Azathoth erupted in a fit of jealousy and anger. His massive, muscular form quaked with eldritch energy, and with a bellow of rage, he launched his Erupting Eldritch Fist towards Setsuna, the air crackling with chaotic power.

Setsuna, unfazed, raised her index finger with precise timing. With an almost effortless motion, she parried Azathoth's attack. The force of her deflection was so precise that it sliced Azathoth's arm perfectly in half, the severed limb falling away in two clean pieces. As the severed arm transformed into a cluster of poisonous roses, Azathoth's eyes widened in disbelief. From the stub at his shoulder, where the arm had been detached from his torso, he began the slow process of regeneration. What was normally an instantaneous and effortless regeneration now proceeded agonisingly slowly, hindered by the disruptive influence of Setsuna's power.

"You insolent wretch! This should be impossible!" Azathoth snarled, his voice thick with rage and confusion. "Do you believe yourself special? Don't get arrogant, girl. You are aeons too early to challenge me at my full power." He let out a pained sound before adding, "Damn it, damn it! I will never forgive you. I will destroy you. No—before that, I will make you suffer!"

Setsuna's gaze remained unflinching as she regarded Azathoth with an icy calm. Her lips curled into a mocking smile. "Is that so? How amusing. You think your threats and bluster will intimidate me? Your power means nothing in the face of my absolute will. If you wish to test your strength, then come and try. But be warned: those who challenge me will not live long enough to regret it."

She paused, her eyes narrowing with a predatory gleam. "Tell me, do you understand why you lost that exchange?

Azathoth's eyes flared with a mix of rage and begrudging respect. Despite the poison seething through his veins, he managed a scornful sneer. "Understand why I lost? This defeat is inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. You may have bested me in this moment, but do not mistake this for the end. Your so-called superiority is fleeting, a mere result of the Ineffable One's Will. I will adapt, and when I seek my revenge, you will be but a distant memory to both Her and me. Enjoy your temporary victory while you can; it will be short-lived."

Setsuna shook her head, a slight smirk forming on her lips. "No. You lost because you underestimated the impact of my abilities and the precision of my attacks. Your arrogance blinded you to the weaknesses in your own approach. You relied too heavily on sheer force, without considering the tactical implications of your actions."

Turning her attention back to Ayame, Setsuna's voice held a trace of excitement. "You are the only one here who truly captures my interest. Engage me in battle, Ayame."

Ayame's expression remained serene as she considered the request. "Very well. But ere thou canst challenge me, thou must first prove thy worth by vanquishing the Void Sovereign or all the members of the Tenebris Monochrome. The Tenebris Monochrome are the elite incarnations of the Primordial Void, each embodying a unique aspect of our existence. Azathoth doth hold naught but an honorary status amongst them, lacking the rank and power of the true members."

Setsuna's gaze shifted briefly to Azathoth, who was still struggling to regenerate his arm. With a dismissive glance, she remarked, "Very well. I shall accept this trial. If Azathoth is but an honorary member, then I will have to discern the true strength of the remaining members. I will not be satisfied until I grasp the full scope of their power."

She regarded Ayame with an Eldritch Gaze, her white hair falling perfectly over her shoulders. Her voice was calm yet resolute. "As for the Void Sovereign, I have my questions. However, I am not one to wait indefinitely..."

Without hesitation, Setsuna pointed her two fingers at Ayame, and as she closed them like a scissor, she uttered, "Shinko-ryu Kiri."

Rays of darklight matter, a force that countered all powers and abilities, including reality warping, burst forth from Ayame's body. Setsuna's eyes narrowed slightly in surprise as Ayame nonchalantly collected the darklight matter, moulding it into green tea-flavoured Pocky sticks. Ayame took her time enjoying the treat, savouring the flavour before offering one to Setsuna.

Intrigued, Setsuna approached and accepted the offering, taking a bite. Then, with a calm yet determined expression, she placed her hand on the hilt of her sheathed odachi and whispered, "Mugen Sekai Kiri."

This technique was designed to cut through all concepts and non-concepts, transcending reality itself. As Setsuna unleashed the technique, Azathoth sneered, "Nothing's happening. How quaint."

Ayame, still composed, explained, "The series of cuts Setsuna hath made operate on a level that transcends absolute omnipotence and metaphysics. The effects are imperceptible to beings such as thyself, Azathoth. Had I not been protecting thee, thou wouldst already be more than dead."

As the odachi's blade lightly touched Ayame's head, it was evident she had permitted it. With a single strand of her hair rising, Ayame effortlessly lifted the weapon. "Thy attack hath failed because, even at thy level, thou hast yet to grasp the true nature of what I am."

Ayame's words hung in the air, challenging Setsuna to reflect. "Art thou satisfied now that thou hast learned the difference betwixt us?"

Setsuna's eyes flashed with determination. "No, I won't be content until I see you truly exert yourself. I will develop a technique capable of cutting through even the Primordial Void—or whatever it is that you embody—and subjugate you. I have no doubt that 'Primordial Void' is an understatement; no term can fully encompass what you truly are, Ayame."

Ayame's smile deepened, a mixture of amusement and curiosity. "Then continue thy journey, Setsuna Fuyukawa. Seek the answers thou dost desire. The omniverse is vast, and the challenges before thee are many. We shall meet again when thou art ready."

With a graceful, fluid motion, Ayame extended her hand towards Azathoth, who accepted the empty Pocky bag with reverence and devoured it as though it were the most delectable treat he had ever experienced.

Ayame then rose from her seat, her posture exuding an air of decisive finality. "The destruction of this world shall no longer be delayed."

As her words echoed through the void, Azathoth's passive powers reactivated, cascading waves of entropy and chaos that obliterated Juliet's world. The skies darkened, the ground fractured, and the very fabric of reality unravelled beneath the relentless onslaught.

Standing at ease, Setsuna's gaze was drawn to a small, desolate fragment of the ruined world. There, floating aimlessly, was a dead worm—the vessel for Romeo's tormented soul. The soul writhed in agony, its suffering palpable even in its disembodied state. It seemed oblivious to the destruction around it, lost in its own ceaseless torment.

Azathoth, noting the soul's plight, extended his tongue with an eldritch slither that defied conventional dimensions. He grasped the worm and consumed it in a single, ghastly gulp, sending Romeo's soul to an abyss of torment beyond death and hell—a fate far worse than any mortal could conceive.

Setsuna watched the scene with an impassive expression. "Love is mundane," she remarked, her voice betraying no emotion. "It is strange to me that Juliet would destroy herself for the sake of a boy. The sentiment seems as fragile and fleeting as the world she left behind."

Ayame, observing the unfolding events with a contemplative gaze, turned towards the reader with an almost conspiratorial glint in her eyes. "Fear not, dear reader," she said in a soothing tone. "This world's demise is confined to the narrative's boundaries. Thy own world shall remain unscathed, for it is one of my favourites. Moreover, I do harbour a fondness for a certain deity thou mayst know—Eloharis, the reincarnation of the God whom many of thy kind do revere. Until our paths cross again, fare thee well in thine own world."