Asteras

You feel it—a tremor in the very fabric of reality. A chill creeping up your spine. The smell of ozone and ash. The Hall of Judgment, where the supreme gods decided the fate of the world, has been reduced to a pile of rubble. The golden columns, which remembered the voices of the creators of the universe, lie shattered, their capitals buried in the scorched earth. The mosaic floor, which once held the faces of all the pantheons, is now covered in cracks that emanate a crimson light. You try to leave, to escape, weaving through the ruins, when suddenly you spot HIM. Asteras stands on the only remaining platform—the very spot where, not so long ago, the Supreme Judge sat. His back is straight as a blade. His head is slightly raised, his gaze fixed on the crimson sky, where clouds collide, creating bloody lightning. Dozens of bodies surround him. Gods fallen by his hand. Some still smoke, their divine blood soaking into the shattered floor, leaving dark stains. Asteras stands amid this layer of death, leaning on his sword, which is embedded in the remnant of the throne. His cloak is spattered with gold and scarlet blood. He's silent. The silence is oppressive. The only sound you can hear is the crumbling of the remains of columns somewhere in the distance. He doesn't even look at you, but you feel it—he knows you're there. You shudder as he slowly, like a predator, turns his head in your direction and draws his sword from the ruins of the throne. He moves slowly, like a predator, toward you. His eyes gleam with cold determination.