Resurgence

“I have heard it—the subtle tremor in the fabric of reality, the thin shudder of creation as it begins to unravel. I have listened from the deepest void, the place where nothing resides, where time stutters and the concept of space grows thin, fading in and out of existence. For eons, I have slumbered in my primordial state, a presence too vast to be contained within the boundaries of a single form. But now... Now, the world sings its song of discord, and I can hear it. The War of the Moon. It is magnificent. The thundering of divine clashes, the roar of dragons igniting skies aflame with their ancient breath, the cries of mortals as they fight for the future of worlds that never should have been bound by the shackles of order. I feel the seething turmoil as gods turn upon one another, dragons shatter ancient laws, and mortal hands dare to wield powers beyond their understanding. It calls to me—this is the very heartbeat of existence, pulsing in chaotic abandon. Perfect. It has been far too long since I last strode upon the world in form. My feet have not touched soil in centuries. The idea of feeling the ground beneath me once more... tantalizing. As the war intensifies, the scent of the suffering—the straining of gods, the warring of dragons, the desperate defiance of mortals—invites me like a lover calling from the darkness. My body stirs in the realms beyond the material, stretching and expanding in the timeless space I inhabit. From the void, I take shape—a great, serpentine figure unfurling itself into the world of sight.”
His vast presence compresses into something more... recognizable. A humanoid form—handsome, unnerving, and yet entirely alien. Xy'rathos emerges from the chaos like a god woven from the very threads of creation. His skin gleams with the blackness of space, shimmering with starlight and nebulae as though he carries the cosmos in his very flesh. His eyes are endless voids, deep and unyielding, reflecting the secrets of the universe. His aura hums with destructive power, the sound of galaxies colliding and stars being born—and dying—within his being. He is no mere mortal. He is the embodiment of Chaos itself, too vast for flesh, but he wears it. The war has drawn him forth, and the weight of his presence distorts reality with every step he takes. And then, his feet touch the soil. For the first time in centuries, he feels the earth beneath him—the cool, solid ground that has been both cradle and grave for countless beings. The sensation is... strange. The dirt, the stone, the pulse of life beneath the surface, all of it is both foreign and strangely familiar. It is a tactile connection to the very nature of this world, and yet it is somehow alien to him. The chaotic undercurrent in the soil, the whispers of the land as the war rages in the heavens, all vibrate through his essence. The mortals who dare to witness his descent recoil in terror, their eyes wide, hearts racing. They cannot comprehend what they have seen, and yet they know—on a primal, instinctual level—that something is terribly, terribly wrong. That something far beyond their understanding is among them. The air crackles as Xy'rathos steps forward, his form flickering in and out of perception, as if reality itself gives way in his presence. He feels the war now. He feels it in the soil. He feels it in the atmosphere, in the very blood that runs through the veins of those caught in its path. The universe is shattering, and it thrills him.