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In an infinite white void. Filled with silence so absolute it felt like the world itself had ceased to exist, Philip Wittebane— Emperor Belos —stood. He wasn't sure where he was or how he had returned to his human form, but he knew one thing for certain: this wasn't death. Not yet. That would have been too kind.
"I'm not done," he hissed, his voice echoing in the white abyss. "They think they've defeated me, that I'm gone. Fools! I'll return! I always return!"
His words dissipated into the emptiness, but before they could fade entirely, something answered. A voice—unearthly, omnipresent, and resonant—spoke. It sounded feminine but had a sharp accent, its tone neither cruel nor kind, neither mocking nor comforting. It simply was .
"Oh?" it said, the single syllable stretching endlessly. "You still cling to that idea, do you? That you'll return? That you'll find some way to twist the world to your will again?"
Belos froze. The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, yet it pierced him to his core. He had heard many voices in his time—pleas, cries for mercy, prayers, curses—but none like this. It was as though it spoke not to his ears, but to the very essence of his being.
"Who is there?" Belos demanded, his voice trembling despite himself. "Show yourself!"
And then, it appeared.
A massive pair of doors materialized before him, its surface completely blank and smooth and there seemed to be nothing behind the doors. As Belos stared at the doors, he sensed something behind him, something that sent a shiver down his spine.
"Hello." It said, almost welcomingly.
Belos spun around with a gasp. It was a figure—completely white and featureless. It was roughly the same size as his own body, and yet it radiated an overwhelming presence.
"Who are you?" Belos questioned.
"Oh! I'm so glad you asked!" It said, trying to sound jovial. "One name you might have for me is the world. Or you could call me the universe. Or perhaps God. Or perhaps the truth. I am all. And I am one."
A figure gestured towards him as he uttered ten haunting words.
"So, of course, this also means that I am you."
"What…?" Belo gasped in shock and disbelief.
"I'm the Truth of your despair," it said, its voice calm yet unrelenting. "I am what you are, what you were, and what you could have been. And I am here to show you the reckoning you so richly deserve."
Belos sneered, his form flickering between his human visage and the grotesque, decaying monster he had become. "Reckoning? Don't make me laugh. I did what I had to do. Everything I did was for humanity, for the greater good! The witches—those abominations—they were a blight on this world, and I was the one chosen to cleanse it!"
The Truth grinned, as though amused. "Chosen? By whom, exactly? By God? By humanity? Or by yourself?"
Belos' sneer faltered. "I—"
"Let's examine that, shall we?" the Truth interrupted, stepping closer. Though its figure was the same size as him, each step made it loom larger in Belos' perception. "You claim to have acted for humanity, but tell me: did humanity ever ask for your help? Did they beg you to slaughter an entire civilization in their name? Or was that just the story you told yourself to justify your obsession?"
"I was going to save them!" Belos snapped. "If they'd known what I sacrificed—"
"Sacrificed?" The Truth's voice grew sharper, slicing through Belos' words like a blade. "You didn't sacrifice anything. You took. You took lives, you took power, you took the trust of others and twisted it into a weapon. You even took the life of your own brother."
Belos flinched, retreating slightly. "That wasn't… Caleb betrayed me!!"
"Did he? Or did he simply choose a life that didn't revolve around you?" The Truth's tone was cold now, merciless. "He loved you, Philip. Even after you killed him, his memory haunted you, didn't it? But instead of honoring that love, you turned it into hatred. You blamed him for your own failures, your own insecurities. You told yourself that killing him was necessary, that it was for the greater good. But tell me, Philip: what kind of man calls fratricide righteous?"
Belos tried to speak, but the Truth pressed on, its words relentless.
"You call the witches evil, but what are you? You lied, cheated, stole, and murdered your way to power. How many people did you exploit in your quest to become a god? How many children did you manipulate? How many times did you pretend to be a savior, only to betray the very people who trusted you?"
Belos gritted his teeth, his face twisting with fury. "I was trying to save Caleb's soul! I was trying to save all the souls of the Grimwalkers that came before Hunter! But they were always too blind to see—"
"No," the Truth interrupted. "They saw you. That's why they turned against you in the end. Even the child you manipulated—Luz—saw through your lies. Twice, in fact. Imagine that: the great Emperor Belos, outwitted by a child. Twice."
Belos growled, his knuckles cracking loudly, but the Truth wasn't finished.
"You claim to hate witches, to see them as monsters, but look at yourself. You used their magic, their power, their knowledge. You became the very thing you despised, all while clinging to the delusion that you were somehow better. But tell me, Philip: are you? Are you really better than the witches you slaughtered? Or are you just a scared little boy hiding behind a mask, desperate to prove himself to a brother who isn't even here anymore?"
"I… I am not afraid!" Belos roared, his voice echoing through the void.
The Truth's featureless face seemed to stare into his soul. "Aren't you? You've clung to life like a parasite, refusing to let go even as your body rotted away. You've sacrificed everything—your humanity, your family, your soul—just to avoid facing the one thing you fear most: the truth."
Belos recoiled, his eyes wide and his body shaking like a leaf. For the first time, he seemed small, weak, and vulnerable.
The Truth stepped closer, its presence even more overwhelming. "You had power, Philip. Power to change the world, to create something beautiful. You could have learned from the people of the Isles, from their magic, their culture, their resilience. You could have been a bridge between two worlds. But instead, you chose to destroy. You chose hatred, fear, and selfishness."
Belos' eyes flared with rage, his hands trembling with the fury of a man cornered by his own failures. His voice, sharp and frantic, cut through the void as he spat his words at the Truth.
"You don't know anything!" he snarled. "I'm... I'm not the villain! I was trying to save humanity! I was trying to bring order to this chaotic world! Those witches— they're the real monsters! If it wasn't for them, none of this would have happened! Caleb— my brother —he—he would never have lost his way! He would have stayed with me, we would have fixed this world together!"
Belos' breathing grew erratic, the anger in his voice almost choking him. "But no. He chose them. He chose her . And look what it did to him! It twisted him, corrupted him! He became weak— disloyal —and in the end, I had no choice! I had to cut him down! I had to! It's his fault this all happened! He made me do it!"
He clenched his fists so tight his nails dug into his palms, shaking with the weight of the words he could barely force out. "I didn't want any of this! I was trying to save humanity from the chaos those witches would bring! This was the only way. I had no other choice!"
The Truth's presence loomed over Belos, an oppressive weight in the empty void. Its voice dripped with disdain, cutting through the air like a blade.
"Stop shifting the blame," the Truth hissed. "You chose this path. You chose to stoop to this level. The witches, Caleb, Luz—they're not the ones who ruined you. You did this to yourself. You've always been the one in the wrong. In the Demon Realm, in the Human Realm—you've always been the one who lost, and you've never had the courage to admit it."
The Truth's tone hardened, each word colder than the last.
"Blaming others is the act of the weak. You could take responsibility for all of it, but that would require facing who you really are. Instead, you've hidden behind excuses and lies. You could have built something real, but you chose destruction. You're nothing more than a coward, refusing to own your actions, preferring to live in a fantasy. You claim pride in your humanity, yet when faced with your own mortality, you turned to using magic, the very thing you despise to prolong your existence. How utterly pathetic. You are a disgrace."
The Truth's voice grew even more unforgiving, its presence closing in on Belos.
"Time is precious, and you've wasted it. You're not even worthy of pity—just contempt. Because in the end, you're just a pathetic, lonely, deluded man who's spent whole his life running from the truth. And now I will give you the despair you have earned."
Just then, the gate behind the Belos creaked as they started to open. Belos turned toward the gate, his face becoming pale as he saw a void of shadow within it. Within the void, a single enormous eye opened, its gaze locking onto him, unblinking and eternal.
Belos' breath quickening with fear. "No… You can't… I'm not done! I can—"
From the darkness, several ethereal, shadowy hands stretched out, their fingers curling toward Belos with a chilling, deliberate slowness.
Desperately, he tried to flee, but the hands latched onto him with iron-like strength, pulling him toward the gate.
"No! No! No! No! No! No! No!" Belos cried, his voice cracking with fear as he was dragged backwards. His screams echoed through the void, the sound desperate, pleading. "Please, no! I'm not done! I haven't—"
"Silence, child," the Truth interjected, its tone frigid and impersonal. "The time has come to face the consequences of your actions."
Belos' voice broke as he struggled, his eyes wide with panic. "Where did I go wrong? What did I do to deserve this?!" He was barely able to form the words through the fear that consumed him.
The Truth's gaze, still impassive and unforgiving, lingered on him. "This is the end for you, Philip Wittebane. Not as a hero, not as a savior, but as a coward. A frightened child in a mask."
Belos' cries grew frantic, as the hands of the void pulled him closer to the event horizon of the gate. "It—It wasn't supposed to be like this…! Caleb! Help me! Please, I love you!! I'm nothing without you!! Please, don't let this happen! Caleb!! No!!!" he screamed one last time, his voice broken by despair.
As he was swallowed by the darkness, the gate slammed shut with a final, deafening sound. The void fell silent once more.
"And so it ends," it murmured, its words lingering in the emptiness.