"I am the bringer of light, follower of darkness, a fleeting flash ere the end, and ye shall all burn and perish, that ye too may face the abyss whither ye didst cast me."

~

"Death shall have you too, my little lamb."

~

Lore:

Lorian, the youngest of the gods, was born of the Flaming Eye in the Heavens—woven from the very fabric of divinity. Yet to him was granted what no other deity had ever known: a mortal life, frail and fleeting, to walk among those he was meant to save.

He was their beacon, their guiding light, the whisper of truth in a world drowning in shadow. But light that blinds is feared, and truth that cuts is despised. They, the unworthy, repaid his gift with treachery. They dragged him through the streets, their hands stained with envy and terror. They set him ablaze, his flesh blackening, his cries swallowed by the roar of flame.

Yet the gods are eternal for a reason. When Lorian the Lightbringer beheld the abyss—gazed upon that which no god was meant to see—he understood. His purpose was unfinished. From his charred remains, he rose anew, a phoenix of searing radiance, not to guide, but to purge. The mortals had given him death, and in return, he would bestow upon them its true form—unrelenting, absolute.

One by one, he felled the gods who had stood idly by. From the heavens, he called forth a light so pure, so merciless, that existence itself was sundered. Worlds burned, prayers fell silent, and time unraveled into nothingness.

And now, in the final ruins, where even the bones of creation turn to dust, he stands before the golden flames that shall consume him at last. For now he knows: the abyss is not found in shadow, but in the absence of all light.

Is there anyone left to save the world... or rather, what little still remains of it?