The harbinger of oblivion :
The time rift was still fresh in the air, as if the very fabric of reality had not fully healed from the tear that Zawish and Zandar had caused. The energy crackling in the space around him felt different now—darker, more erratic. It was a sensation Zawish couldn't quite place, but something in his gut told him it wasn't over. Zandar's death had not been the final blow he'd expected.
He stood at the edge of the shattered skyline, the remnants of his last battle scattered across the once-glorious city. His hands trembled, not from exhaustion, but from the gnawing feeling that this wasn't just the aftermath of a war—it was the calm before something far worse.
From behind him, a voice shattered the silence.
"You really thought you'd won, didn't you?"
Zawish turned, his body instinctively moving into a defensive stance. The figure that stepped from the shadows was unlike any enemy he had faced before. Tall, with a frame made of dark, shifting material that seemed to absorb the very light around it, the figure's face was obscured by a mask of smooth, reflective obsidian, its eyes two glowing orbs of crimson.
"I am Vharrk," the voice continued, cold and metallic, "The Harbinger of Oblivion."
Zawish's breath caught in his throat. "Oblivion…?"
"Yes," Vharrk's laugh echoed around the broken city. "I am the end of all things. The forgotten force that exists in the spaces between existence and non-existence. Zandar was but a distraction. The real threat… is me."
Zawish narrowed his eyes. "I've faced worse than you. You're just another parasite, feeding off the chaos."
Vharrk took a step forward, and with each movement, the air seemed to grow colder, as if reality itself was recoiling in fear. "Perhaps, but you haven't faced true oblivion. The power I wield is beyond the comprehension of your petty universe. I am the embodiment of entropy—the end that waits for every beginning. And now, your universe will be my playground."
A sudden rush of wind followed by a blinding flash of light knocked Zawish to the ground. As he struggled to rise, the sense of power—of overwhelming, incomprehensible force—began to take root in his mind.
This was no mere villain.
Vharrk was the incarnation of a far darker force than Zawish had ever encountered. The whispers of this new entity—of Oblivion—filled his thoughts, but he pushed them aside. He couldn't let fear take hold. Not now. Not when the stakes were higher than ever.
But Vharrk was patient. He knew the only way to defeat Zawish was not through sheer force—though that was a part of it. The true battle lay in the manipulation of time, space, and existence itself. He could erase the very foundation of Zawish's being if he wished.
"Time is a fragile thing, Zawish," Vharrk murmured, stepping forward. "And I will unravel it piece by piece until you are nothing."
The world around Zawish seemed to bend and twist, the laws of nature breaking down in the wake of Vharrk's power. With each step, reality felt more like a dream—fragile, fleeting, and doomed to collapse.
But Zawish wouldn't let it end this way.