by Motuzalix
In the silence before the first dawn, he said “no”—to Heaven and to Hell. Now both answers live inside him: dying silver light and laughing black smoke. Earth freezes under Fimbulwinter. Portals tear the sky. Angels fall like broken stars, demons spill like oil, and the last humans scream metal psalms while blood paints the snow red. He walks through it all—not as savior, not as destroyer. As chronicler and surgeon: recording the end of an age while cutting out the cancer devouring existence since Lucifer’s first rebellion. Heaven is exhausted. Hell is starving. And he is simply tired of both. So he drags himself to the bottom of the ninth circle, faces the Morning Star, and does what no angel or demon ever dared: end the war by ending the battlefield. Even if the last line in these chronicles is his own reflection in a pool of blood and ash. Chapter 1: The Exorcist A lone exorcist stands on the edge of shattered reality. One word against the demonic flood. One soul to save. The war begins inside him.
