Mahoraga in Lord of the Mysteries

Space twisted and contorted under an unfathomable force, warping as if reality itself struggled to maintain its shape. From this singularity, Mahoraga emerged in a slow, deliberate spiral, his immense form unfurling like a cosmic serpent shedding its skin.

As his feet touched the invisible fabric of space, his gaze lifted toward the white-grey moon, its pale glow casting eerie shadows across the void. His expression was difficult to decipher; an inscrutable mixture of contemplation and something almost resembling amusement.

"To wield an ability designed solely for absolute victory… yet use it to restore a vanquished foe?" His thoughts flickered like distant stars, fragmented yet sharp.

With a casual flick of his finger, the very air trembled, and in response, an enormous golden helm manifested above his head. It was not merely large; it was titanic, its sheer scale so vast that it created a luminous ring behind the moon, the golden spheres at the ends of its spokes forming a celestial pattern that defied natural order.

This radiant construct, brimming with overwhelming power, was so immense that it could be seen even from the farthest reaches of Earth.

However, the True Gods, ever watchful and cautious, acted swiftly. Their divine will distorted perception, ensuring that normal humans remained blissfully unaware of the phenomenon.

Yet, no such veil could obscure the sight from the eyes of Beyonders. Among those able to perceive this unfathomable event was one particular individual—Lumian Lee.

…

Lumian Lee, his very being wholly consumed by the corruption of the Circle of Inevitability, lifted his gaze to the colossal golden helms encircling the pale-white moon.

A deep, guttural snarl tore from his throat as his face contorted, shifting between three distinct expressions at once; malevolence, pain, and cold indifference, each flickering across his features like fractured reflections in a shattered mirror.

"It has begun," the words dripped with an eerie finality as he pivoted sharply, his form blurring as he moved.

The border between the Intis Republic and the Loen Kingdom stretched before him, but distance was meaningless now. With each step, he hurled himself a few seconds forward in time, vanishing from one location only to materialize in the next, accelerating his journey far beyond mortal limitations.

The land itself struggled to register his presence before he was already gone. Though he had not inherited the unrestricted might of the original Circle of Inevitability, the vast array of abilities granted to him, even in their limited forms, made him an entity beyond conventional comprehension.

He teetered on the precipice of divinity, his authority reaching the level of a Great Old One—yet, in practical terms, his abilities placed him at the pinnacle of Sequence 1 Beyonders, a being few could hope to challenge.

But with such power came a cruel price. His mind had fractured, splintering into three separate personalities, none dominant over the others. Every decision, every action, required a consensus; a swift vote between the three before he could act. It was an existence both maddening and precarious, yet none of them cared.

For once, all three were in perfect agreement.

Their mission was clear.

They would locate and eliminate the Angel of Time, Amon.

…

Klein's eyes fluttered open, but the soft comfort of his bed was gone. Instead, he found himself enveloped in an unfamiliar darkness, thick and cloying like damp velvet pressed against his skin.

The air was stagnant, devoid of the familiar scents of his room; no traces of old books, candle wax, or the faint lingering scent of breakfast.

Just cold, empty nothingness.

Something was wrong.

*Crack*

The sound was sharp, sudden, like brittle bone snapping underfoot. It came from behind him. His breath hitched as he turned his head, slow and hesitant, his fingers instinctively curling into fists.

But there was nothing. Just more of that oppressive blackness stretching endlessly in all directions. His pulse quickened.

"Klein…"

A whisper. Faint. Almost affectionate.

The voice brushed against his ear as though spoken from right beside him. He spun around, heartbeat hammering against his ribs.

Nothing. Again, just that endless void, swallowing every trace of light, every certainty.

"Klein?" This time, the voice was closer, curling at the nape of his neck like exhaled breath. A chill ran down his spine as he staggered back, hands searching for something, anything, to ground himself.

And then; wood.

Rough, solid bark beneath his fingertips.

'A tree!' He exhaled in relief.

Only… there were no trees around.

A sickening realization crawled through his veins like ice. He hadn't seen a single tree when he first looked around. His throat clenched, his fingers trembling as they pressed against the rough surface.

He forced himself to turn his head, to see what he had leaned against. Before Klein could react, before he could so much as turn his head toward the creeping presence behind him, a hand; cold, unnatural, pierced through his chest.