Darkness.
That was all there was.
Darkness… and silence.
But not an empty silence.It was dense, breathing—filled with restrained breaths, ancient whispers, and thoughts that were no longer entirely human.
And in the center of it all…Him.
Seated on a throne without defined shape.Surrounded by shelves full of sealed artifacts.Carvings in stone and metal.Maps drawn in blood.And a dozen hooded figures kneeling around him, not daring to lift their gaze.
The Hollow One.
He had no name anymore.Who he once was… was dead.Consumed.
What remained was something else.
Something that had seen the truth of the world.And had accepted the offer whispered by the darkness the night the sky broke.
—The squad has reached Quilpué —said a kneeling figure in a hooded cloak.They intercepted and destroyed the southern outpost.They freed the prisoners…And one of them… heard your voice.
The Hollow One didn't respond at first.
His eyes—if they could still be called that—glowed with a dark light, as if an abyss churned within his pupils.
—Diego… —he finally said. His voice was an echo inside itself—deep, distant.—Interesting...
He stood.
His presence was suffocating.Not due to his size.But because the very air trembled around him.
—It's time to move the pieces —he declared.
He turned to one of the closest soldiers—an Awakened, skin covered in living black tattoos that writhed like fire.
—Send the Reapers.
—All of them?
—No.Just three.If they fall… I'll know they are worthy.If they die… we buy time for what truly matters.
—And what matters, my lord?
The Hollow One smiled. Or something close to it.
—The cycle.The purge.And the rebirth of the world…without humans.
As his followers silently left to carry out his orders, The Hollow One remained still.
His eyes wandered toward the far wall of the chamber, where faded portraits still hung under layers of dust and ash.One of them, barely visible, showed a face that had once been his:
A politician.
A man of hollow promises and boundless ambition.
A leader who had promised security.Progress.Order.
And who, in the end, had sold everything he was for power.
—This world… —he murmured, voice like broken glass—was already rotten before the creatures came.
He stepped slowly toward a shattered window.From there, the ruined city stretched below, wrapped in blackened clouds.
—The apocalypse wasn't the end.It was the correction.
—And I… —he whispered, spreading his hands—am its instrument.
The air around him pulsed—not with magic, but with pure hate.
A hatred older than any monster.A hatred for systems.For humanity.
—Humans failed.They clung to power.To greed.To lies.
He closed his eyes for a moment.
—The only way to rebuild the world…is without them.
He didn't seek to open portals.Or recover relics.Or summon forgotten gods.
His plan was simpler.Crueler.Absolute.
Eradicate.Erase.Rewrite.
—The purge is not a threat —he said softly—It's justice.
And as the city groaned under his rule of shadow,The Hollow One smiled.
Because in his twisted vision of the future…
Humanity had already had its chance.And it had wasted it.