The Reign Of Eternal Madness

Chapter 1: The Eclipse of Eternity

In a distant realm—a land where beings born of divinity and primordial power roamed—a man once revered as a god now stood encircled by traitors. Damon, the Mad God, breathed raggedly as the pantheon closed in: deities he'd once ruled, devils he'd scorned, and even those he'd called kin. His silver hair clung to blood-smeared cheeks, eyes wild yet lucid, as if sanity and madness warred behind their fractured glow.

This is how it ends? His thoughts clawed at him, raw and jagged. Betrayed by the very subjects who knelt at my throne?

He laughed, the sound hollow, echoing through the hollowed battlefield. "Ha! So this is where the Mad God dies?" His voice cracked, not with fear, but bitter irony. Adrenaline burned through his veins as he scanned the horizon, desperation staining his pride. Where are you, brother? The question throbbed like an open wound. "Will I truly perish without seeing my only family…?"

Damon bit down until his gums bled, golden ichor pooling on his tongue. With a roar, he activated "Crazed Steps" , his body erupting into a blur of motion. Every stride was erratic, untethered, madness itself given form. If death claimed him, it would be beneath the blood-red leaves of the willow tree he'd planted with his brother centuries ago—a place where his bones might still be found, where someone might remember him as more than a monster.

Wind screamed in his ears as he fled, the terrain dissolving into streaks of color. Behind him, laughter and taunts pursued like feral hounds.

"Your struggle is pointless, Damon!" Luther, God of Eternal Flames, hurled an inferno that seared the air. The blast struck Damon's back, flinging him forward. He skidded across scorched earth, flesh sizzling, but surged upright, teeth bared in a grin. Almost there.

Leaping skyward, he glimpsed the battlefield—a writhing sea of gods and titans—before a sob froze him midair.

"… I'm sorry."

Nora, Goddess of the Ocean, hovered before him, tears streaking her face. Her trident, a weapon he'd forged for her ascension, gleamed with borrowed divinity. Before he could speak, she plunged it into his chest.

The impact stole his breath. Damon crashed to the ground, the trident's shaft protruding like a grotesque limb. He tore it free, golden blood spraying as he coughed. "Hah… Even you, little tide?" His voice trembled, betrayal sharpening his madness. "Come then! Let the world see how gods slaughter their own!"

"Crazed Steps" flared again. He vanished, reappearing at the edge of a sacred grove—a paradise untouched by war. The willow tree towered ahead, its ivory trunk spiraling into crimson leaves that dripped like weeping wounds. The air hummed with ancient power, the grass shimmering with rare elixirs, rivers of liquid gold threading the soil.

His enemies halted, awestruck and wary. "Impossible…" Luther hissed. "This place—it's alive."

Damon staggered to the tree, pressing his maimed wrist to its bark. Flesh regenerated, bones knitting with a sickening crunch. "Welcome," he rasped, spreading his arms, "to my requiem."

The first wave attacked—lesser gods, hungry for glory. Their feet touched the hallowed ground, and the earth screamed. Roots speared through chests, petals sharpened into blades, reducing them to bone and ash.

Silence fell. Then, the Old Gods descended:

- Luther, flames writhing like serpents around his fists.

- Nora, her trident trembling in her grip.

- The Time Weaver, his form flickering through epochs.

- The Cosmic Matriarch, her body a collapsing star.

- The Prophetess of Fate, her featureless face etched with glowing runes.

The Time Weaver stepped forward, threads of chronal energy spiraling from his fingertips. "Your reign ends now, Damon."

Reality fractured. Damon's body splintered into echoes—a child planting a sapling, a king bathing in rebellion's blood, a lunatic cackling as worlds crumbled.

"You think time is your weapon?" Damon spat, foaming blood staining his chin. "I am time." He seized a thread of the Weaver's own past—a memory of the Weaver himself crowning Damon millennia ago. "Strike me," he hissed, yanking the thread taut, "and erase your wretched existence."

The Weaver faltered. Damon's fist shattered his jaw.

The Cosmic Matriarch descended next, her voice a supernova's roar. "You corrupt all you touch!" A black hole erupted from her chest, hurtling toward him.

Damon spun, slapping it aside. His hand disintegrated, sucked into the void. He laughed, regenerating the limb mid-swing. "Corrupt? No—I create!" With a clawed hand, he carved a sigil in the air. The black hole convulsed, vomiting a newborn star into the Matriarch's face. Her flesh melted, revealing skeletal constellations beneath.

As she screamed, the Prophetess materialized behind Damon, her stonelike hands clamping his skull. Visions flooded his mind: his empire crumbling into chaos, gods feasting on his essence, madness consuming all.

Damon's breath hitched. Then he laughed, the sound unhinged, euphoric. "You think fate frightens me?" He headbutted her, cracking the tablet fused to her face. "I am madness! I am nightmare!"

Enraged, the Old Gods converged. Luther's meteors scarred the sky. Nora's oceans became liquid void. The Weaver twisted time itself, freezing Damon's blood. The Matriarch split into a thousand dying stars.

Damon spread his arms, skin cracking as power devoured him. "Now… this is a worthy end!" His body warped into a black hole, veins glowing pink as reality itself frayed. "Forsaken Sword: Final Form—Eternal Madness!"

The slash erupted—a supernova of flame and chaos. Gods burned. The earth vaporized. And Damon, laughing through tears, danced as the world dissolved around him.

---

The battlefield was a scar on reality itself. Skies hung like torn gauze, bleeding violet light onto plains where the laws of physics whimpered and frayed. Rivers flowed backward. Trees grew thorns that wept. Here, gods had died screaming—their divine carcasses dissolving into black mist, their final curses still crackling in the air like live wires.

Damon, the God of Madness, had orchestrated this carnage. Even in death, his laugh seemed to echo. His body—what remained of it—lay twisted in the epicenter, a smoldering husk with seven obsidian pillars spiraling from its ashes. Each pillar pulsed with a sickly iridescence, veins of crimson lightning snaking across their surfaces. They hummed a melody that made teeth ache and sanity tremble.

---

- Nora, War's Architect, her armor cracked and leaking ichor, gripped her spear tighter. She'd led the charge against Damon, but victory tasted like ash. Why did it come to this? she wondered. Was there no other way?

- Luther, Stormbringer, knelt beside her, his hurricane eyes dimmed. His storms had drowned entire pantheons, yet the pillars' hum made his hands shake. Damon was a tyrant, but he was also our kin. What have we become?

- The Time Weaver hovered, her form flickering between child and crone, threads of chronology snapping around her. She'd unraveled epochs to trap Damon—now she stared at the pillars like they were stopwatches ticking toward doom. What have we unleashed?

- The Matriarch of Cosmos, her body a constellation of dying stars, radiated cold fury. "He let us win," she hissed. Damon's final grin haunted her—too wide, too knowing. What did he see that we didn't?

- The Prophetess of Fate said nothing. Her silver eyes reflected the pillars… and beyond them, fractures splitting into infinite possible tomorrows. The future is blank. What have we done?

---

They moved faster than godflesh should. Five pillars were seized:

- Nora claimed the Pillar of Seven Emotions —it broke her mind, leaving her in a state of anger and sorrow.

- Luther took the Pillar of Formless Entities—a void where beginnings took various forms.

- The Time Weaver ensnared the Pillar of Weapon Mastery —its surface showed battle arts even he couldn't recall.

- The Matriarch imprisoned the Pillar of Creation—a black sun devouring its own rays.

- The Prophetess gripped the Pillar of Lucidity —blank as an empty page, yet it burned her palms.

Two vanished. The Pillar of Shattered Sanity dissolved into shadow. The Pillar of Carnage and Slaughter tore a hole through reality itself, fleeing into the unknown.

---

"They're not relics—they're seeds," the Time Weaver rasped. Damon's madness had always been a fractal thing, replicating, adapting. Now his essence was scattered, hiding in these fragments. The stolen five? Contained, for now. But the missing two…

The Prophetess finally spoke. "They will await someone just like their master." Her voice broke. "I can't see it—the future is blank."

Around them, the battlefield shuddered. Somewhere, a crimson leaf—the last remnant of a slain nature god—twisted into a thorned flower, its petals dripping with something too dark to be blood.

Damon's laugh echoed again.