As Ezekiel plunged deeper into the chaos, cutting down his enemies with ruthless precision, something stirred inside him. It wasn't just the bloodlust or the searing rage that had fueled his every strike—it was something darker, something far more primal. It was an instinct that clawed at his soul, a pull from the void itself, urging him onward. This was not the will of Diablos alone that pushed him; this was something far deeper, far more ancient. Something that felt like destiny itself.
A name echoed through the tumultuous sea of his thoughts, distant yet unmistakable. It whispered through the blood-soaked air, slicing through the roar of battle and the screams of the dying.
Varek.
The name burned into his mind like a brand, a searing fire that refused to be extinguished. It was not a name he had sought, nor one he had ever known—yet it felt like it had always been a part of him, lingering just beyond his grasp. The mere thought of it stirred something within him, a connection, a thread between them, as if the very fabric of the world had woven them together with some unspeakable purpose. And with every foe he slaughtered, the pull became undeniable, growing stronger, dragging him toward something greater than vengeance. Something that transcended even his desire for destruction.
Varek.
The name sang in his blood, whispering to him like a siren's call through the darkness. He could feel its weight bearing down on him, the force of it like a storm gathering at the horizon. He had to find him. There was no other choice now.
The question gnawed at his thoughts, a savage hunger he could not ignore.
Why Varek? What had this man done to him?
Ezekiel didn't know, and frankly, he didn't care. It no longer mattered. What mattered now was that Varek was the key to completing his rage, to finishing what had been started in the fires of his rebirth.
When Ezekiel finally found him—when he stood before the man who had haunted his every step since his resurrection—there would be no mercy. There would be no hesitation. There would only be the end.
Varek would die.
The molten fury in his eyes flared brighter as he thought of the one he sought. Varek. The man who had crossed his path before, who had defied him, who had somehow made it out alive while Ezekiel had been left to rot. The one whose mere existence had cost him everything—his life, his humanity, his chance at redemption.
But now, Ezekiel was no longer human. He was a force of destruction, a being forged in the depths of the void, a harbinger of annihilation. He had been reforged for this purpose, this singular goal that consumed every ounce of his being. To find Varek and destroy him.
The vengeance that had driven him for so long had turned into an obsession, a need to tear down everything that stood before him. And Varek, the fool, the hero, the very symbol of everything he had lost, would be the first to fall.
Ezekiel's fists clenched, his fingers digging into the jagged, blackened steel of his new form, the weapon that was now a part of him—his soul, his rage, his essence. His enemies were nothing more than ants beneath his feet, their lives snuffed out in the blink of an eye, their screams echoing in his ears as he tore through them without thought, without care.
He was unstoppable. Unkillable. His power surged with every strike, with every life extinguished in his wake. But it wasn't enough. Nothing would be enough until Varek lay at his feet, broken and bleeding, his light extinguished forever.
And then, as if summoned by his very thoughts, a vision flashed before his eyes—a glimpse of Varek. He could see him clearly now, the man who had once been a hero, a symbol of strength and righteousness. But Ezekiel no longer saw him as such. No, now he saw only an obstacle. A target. A means to an end.
Varek would be the final piece in his symphony of destruction, the last note to fall in a world that had been rebuilt in blood and fire. Ezekiel would hunt him down. He would track him across every shattered battlefield, through every smoldering ruin, until there was nowhere left for the man to hide. And when he finally caught him, there would be no mercy, no hesitation, no second chances. Varek would be nothing more than another broken, lifeless shell beneath Ezekiel's boot.
For there was no redemption in Ezekiel's world anymore. Only vengeance. Only the burning need to tear down everything that stood before him.
And when he found Varek, Ezekiel would make sure that the world would remember only one thing:
The hero had fallen.
No mercy. No hesitation. Only death.