The Voidwalker Chronicles

This is it. The aftermath.

The gods have spoken. The creators have argued. And he—the one who shouldn't even exist in their eyes—has left a scar on their egos they'll never forget.

In this chapter, we step away from war… into something deeper. Something real.

Fear. Trust. Loyalty.

This is the part where the dust settles… and the bond that matters most takes the spotlight.

You've seen Nero Angelo unleash darkness upon gods—

Now see the part of him they'll never understand.

The dome was gone.

The all-powerful beings stood in silence. Not out of reverence—out of something far rarer.

Fear.

Zeno hovered above his seat, small fists clenched. TOAA's infinite gaze drifted across collapsing probabilities. Featherine adjusted her feathered quill, but for once… had nothing to write.

They all looked at each other. Waiting. Daring someone to speak first.

It was The Presence who broke the silence. "He shouldn't exist."

"He does," murmured the One Below All, "and he doesn't follow any of our rules."

"Why is he so much more powerful than us?" Zeno finally asked, voice thin. "We've seen so many timelines… erased them even."

Featherine closed her book. "We've seen them. Written them. Created and destroyed them."

"… But he lived them," TOAA answered softly. "He walked through every broken future… felt every death. Every scream."

"He's not a god," muttered the Living Tribunal, eyes flickering. "He's what gods fear they'll become if they ever care too much."

More silence.

"We can't beat him," said Featherine at last.

"No," TOAA admitted. "We shouldn't even try."

They didn't vote. They didn't argue anymore.

For the first time in eternity, every supreme being agreed.

Nero Angelo is not to be touched. Not to be provoked.

Not because of what he might do—

But because of what he's already done.

And one by one, they vanished. Back to their timelines, their realms, their stories.

Elsewhere in Time

In a quiet, untouched timeline, the wind carried no danger. Just peace.

Nero stepped into it silently, cloaked in shadow and weariness. His boots crunched against soft dirt.

Then—

"BAWK!!!"

A white blur launched at him. Flapping wings. Blazing speed.

Clucknor slammed into his chest, then fluttered up and landed squarely on Nero's head—right where he belonged.

He was trembling.

"… You're okay," Nero said softly.

Clucknor's beady eyes narrowed. His voice was low, a rare crack in his usual smugness.

"I thought you would die."

"I was actually scared."

A long silence.

Nero stared ahead, the wind catching the edges of his cloak.

"You've known me for trillions of years," he said. "You should know by now… I don't lose."

Clucknor sniffled. Then fluffed up his feathers like nothing happened. "Yeah, well. You made me molt early, jerk."

A small smile tugged at Nero's lips. "That's on you."

Clucknor tilted his head. "You say that like you didn't just wipe out the entire metaphysical board of cosmic authorities."

"… They attacked me."

"And you erased their egos. Brutally. Artistically, even."

Another pause.

"… I missed you," Nero said.

Clucknor gave a quiet bawk, softer this time. "Of course you did."

He leaned forward, settling fully into Nero's hair. "Now let's go home, big guy."

And together, they opened a tear in space.

A swirl of black, violet, and silver engulfed them as they returned—to the endless, shapeless place only they could call home.

The Void.

(The End)