EPILOGUE: The Abyss.

At the nexus of the demon realms only a step beyond the worlds he has ravaged a god rages against the final failure of plans ten thousand years in the making. Embraced by darkness, alone by design, solely focused on a goal so long pursued he now glares with seething fury at the barrier separating him from what he wants the most: a world ripe for reaping, now forever sealed by the Anchor of Exile.

No stars exist in this space between dimensions, yet there is light wrought by raging energies of the abysmal plane. Tiny flickers spark and dim in an instant. Explosive bursts create swirling event horizons in their wake as their colorful auroras brighten all but its blackest depths. Chaos in fiery form consumes anything in its wake except for him. Yet now the furies themselves seem to echo his wrath, the scorching heat and frigid cold swirling in greater turmoil at the thwarting of his will. Eons of exposure to the elemental furies have toughened his hide to a nearly invulnerable state. Scorching heat merely chases away the frigid cold, a soothing balm to one such as him—even in the depths of defeat.

Demons, warlocks and minor demigods pass unhindered portal to portal tapping into the energies of the abyss to create gateways to other worlds. He could stop them if he wished, squelching them from existence without stirring. Most are far beneath his notice, but their goals are not dissimilar. Opportunity. Control. Power. His desires remain great, his patience now forced to be greater still. Yet the failure vexes him beyond measure as the long wait begins anew.

He has invested much effort in this world from the first of their days. Now, he will have to turn his attention elsewhere, although it will require another long wait for his energies to be restored, for his influence to spread, worshippers to gather.

Despite his overwhelming supremacy, these lesser beings have failed him utterly. A single gate is all they need to access the world of their choosing. Not he who requires the combined power of the abyss to transport all that he is across the dimensional barrier separating him from his destination—now locked forever.

Tethered within this great expanse, his psychic links to those who worshipped at his altars flicker and fade. Countless beings who prayed for his notice little knowing the ultimate cost of his attention now cower in terror or turn their faces from his influence.

From the mightiest to the lowliest he had ushered them along a path of his choosing, granting power, wealth, or knowledge while bending their will to his bidding.

The worthy ones benefited the most. Loyalty had promised dividends. They and their own followers had prepared the way for him to cross the dimensional divide eager to be in the presence of their god. To gain all that he had promised.

Yet now those granted his gifts, who once thought to profit from the promises he made, find every boon stripped from them—treasures turned to ash, powers dissolved, ambitions left barren as the sealed gate claims its final toll.

They may have what they will for it matters naught in the end. He will continue to rule long after their bodies decay and their bones turn to dust.

So too shall this cycle continue.

Since their earliest days when they lived in caves, when they learned the power of words and weapons, and challenged the demons that thought to make them prey, he has been watching for hundreds of centuries of their time. Observing them. Manipulating. Guiding a chosen few toward their inescapable destiny.

Even now, the signs that harbinger his freedom have faded into nothing. The Rites of Tavrok lie broken. The sacrifices have slipped beyond his reach.

Sacrifices were made. Rituals followed. Elements unleashed.

The gates of the abyss have slammed shut.

Upon this day, the six billion inhabitants of Earth remain beyond the dominion of Amolon.

So too shall this cycle continue… for another ten thousand years.

The End.

Season of Solace Completion: April 2026

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