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  Chapter 13 – Lord of the Night

  Time is a river for mortals—constantly flowing forward, leaving behind only the traces of memories. But for gods, time is an ocean—deep, dark, and at times, still. And for V… time no longer existed. He had created his own.

  Decades passed. Seasons turned, civilizations rose and fell. But V remained—silent as a mountain, patient as the night. After the clash with the Eternals, when his body was too broken to carry itself, he had fallen into darkness. And in that abyss, a rebirth had begun. This was no ordinary recovery—it was an ancient transformation. Like a nocturnal phoenix rising from its ashes…

  An ancient, abandoned human city… Its stones worn by time, its streets overtaken by weeds, its temples filled with whispering echoes—it still held secrets. And now, it was V’s new home. A place long forgotten by man, slowly reclaimed by nature, had become the domain of the night’s new sovereign.

  And V… was no longer just a warrior. He was becoming something else—a being, a myth, a god who walked within shadows.

  ?

  The Echo of Power…

  V’s ascension to the third level was not merely a physical rise. It was an evolution of existence, a fusion of identity with darkness. He now existed in a form unrecognizable even to the Asgardians. His muscles brimmed with a strength no mortal mind could comprehend. Each step made the earth subtly tremble. His eyes still gleamed pitch-black, but no longer with pain—instead, with a dark wisdom.

  The dark energy within him was no longer a wild ocean, but a river flowing under his command. He could speak to shadows, weave them, even shape them through mere thought. His summons—Shadow and Griffon—had become mightier than ever. Shadow was no longer a mere silhouette, but a towering panther-lord; Griffon, meanwhile, birthed lightning from its wings and could rend the skies in two.

  And V… did not merely summon them. He orchestrated them like a master conductor.

  But such power could not be wielded with ordinary weapons. And so, V forged a new staff from the depths of the primeval shadows.

  ?

  The Staff: Fang of Nihil

  Born from darkness, this staff was no mere weapon—it was a symbol of will. It radiated an aura that shimmered between black and violet, like a shard torn from the heart of shadow itself. Its shaft was adorned with vein-like ridges, reminiscent of an ancient tree’s twisted roots. At its tip curled a claw-like spike, housing a swirling vortex of shadows that never ceased to spin.

  This staff was not just a vessel of power—it was the physical embodiment of V’s bond with the darkness. When V struck it upon the ground, the shadows beneath the earth would rise; when he raised it to the sky, even the stars seemed to flicker and falter.

  This was the emblem of his new strength.

  ?

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  New Spells – The Language of Darkness

  V no longer spoke to the darkness with words—but with will, intent, and desire.

  Chains of the Void:

  With a mere thought, V could turn shadows into chains. They lashed out like serpents, never hesitating to seek their target. Upon contact, they drained life force—not just physically, but spiritually. These chains did not simply empty their victim—they consumed them.

  Each chain extended, twisted, and curved with V’s will, and at a single command, could explode into shattering force. Those of weak will found themselves unable to stand—let alone resist—before such power.

  Domain of the Abyss:

  More than a spell—this was a declaration.

  When V struck his staff into the ground, a fifty-meter radius plunged into darkness. The sky above became veiled with shadows like a thick shroud, and light could no longer pierce through. Within this realm, V was near-divine. Time slowed, enemies’ movements became sluggish, thoughts muddled.

  But the most terrifying aspect?

  No being weaker than V could escape from this domain.

  The Domain of the Abyss was not just a battlefield advantage—it was the manifestation of V’s divine will. Within its bounds, enemies fought not only shadows, but their own fears.

  ?

  Over the long years spent in that ancient city, V hunted hundreds of Deviants. Each one fed his darkness; each one brought him closer to the next level. The darkness no longer remained within him—it began to pour out, an entity of its own. The shadows at times moved independently, and sometimes whispered in his dreams.

  V listened to those whispers… but did not obey. He was still the master of his own will.

  And the Eternals?

  There was no word from them. No one came. No one inquired. Perhaps they thought V was a ghost. Or perhaps… they feared him. But V did not care.

  Because he was no longer the Eternals’ concern. He had become a matter of history itself.

  When darkness fell, the city breathed. The wind whispered forgotten prayers through broken columns. The weeds growing between stones twisted into unseen shapes at night. Amid this silence, seated upon the temple steps, was a solitary figure: V, hands resting on his knees, head slightly bowed. It was as though the shadows were not seeping from his body—but from his very soul.

  But this night… was different.

  When the moon peeked briefly through the black clouds, faint rustling could be heard from afar. Footsteps… hesitant, uncertain… yet real.

  Without lifting his head, V spoke:

  — “Come out. I can see your fear.”

  From the shadows emerged a young man, slowly. He wore a weathered cloak, worn by time, and held a dying torch. His eyes were filled with both wonder and terror. As he drew closer to V, he trembled—but did not turn back.

  — “Is it… is it really you?” he asked in a hushed voice. “The Guardian of the Nights?”

  V tilted his head slightly. It was the first time he had heard such a title. The young man continued:

  — “Our village elders speak of a legend. A being who dwells in the ancient city. One who speaks to shadows at night… who summons lightning… who destroys demons.”

  V smiled. It was not a warm smile—but one filled with profound calm.

  — “Legends… are built upon the bones of disappointment.”

  — “But you’re real! I… I saw you. Last winter, beyond the mountain. You split a Deviant in two with a single strike. It vanished—like the chains swallowed it.”

  V slowly stood. As he leaned on his staff, the torchlight flickered. Shadows began to swirl around him—as if cloaking him in a living mantle.

  — “What is your name?”

  — “Elian.”

  — “And why have you come here, Elian?”

  — “Because… my people are afraid. The Deviants are attacking more often. And everyone is waiting for you. The God of Nights… the warrior who walks in darkness…”

  V took a single step. Beneath the soil, the chains stirred silently. Elian instinctively stepped back, but V’s voice held him:

  — “I am no god, Elian. I am a curse. A warning. A blade that gleams in the dead of night.”

  The boy did not avert his gaze.

  — “No. You are hope. If even the darkness kneels to you, why shouldn’t we?”

  Those words struck a deep chord within V. For the first time in decades… someone saw him as hope. Not as a weapon. Not as a threat. But as a savior.

  ?

  After that night, Elian returned. But he did not return alone.

  With each passing day, a small settlement began to form at the edges of the ancient city. Not of cowards or runaways—but of believers. People came, not to confront, but to witness. Each observed V from afar. None dared to approach him directly, but they began to leave offerings on the temple steps: fruits, old scriptures, prayers, drawings.

  And V… continued to speak with the shadows.

  In time, these people began writing their own tales. They spoke of a great panther that roamed the night. A lightning-winged bird that descended from the clouds. And a faceless man made of shadows. To them, he was no longer a name.

  He had become a myth.

  Lord of the Night.

  Master of Shadows.

  Bearer of Chains.

  And V… did not deny it. Because these rumors became a curtain of fear for his enemies—and a shield for his people. Darkness was no longer merely a threat—it had become a refuge.

  And the sovereign of that refuge… was a god born from the ashes of an exiled Asgardian.