[This story is a fan-made, transformative work inspired by mythology and the Record of Ragnarok universe. All original mythological and copyrighted characters belong to their respective creators and copyright holders. Nero Angelo and the storyline in The Voidwalker Chronicles are original creations by the author. This work is shared for entertainment and homage purposes only and is not intended for commercial gain or infringement of copyrights.]
Epilogue: The Council Trembles
The arena was empty now.
The sand had been swept clean. The shattered thrones of the divine repaired. The corpses revived… and laid to rest.
And yet, fear remained.
Far above the battlefield, in a place hidden even from time itself, the Council of the Gods had gathered.
Twelve thrones of impossible grandeur circled a single pedestal of judgment. Zeus, Odin, Shiva, Anubis, and others—beings worshipped across millennia—sat in uneasy silence. Some avoided each other's eyes. Others stared at the floor, still struggling to process what they had witnessed.
At the center of the chamber, a scorched stone slab pulsed with residual energy—the only remnant of Phoboros the Dread Wyrm.
Zeus leaned forward, his voice stripped of thunder, heavy and hushed.
"He didn't just kill Phoboros…
He unmade him."
Odin clenched his fist, the knuckles pale.
"Even I couldn't sense the limits of that boy. His presence… it was like looking into an abyss that looked back—and pitied you."
Shiva, ever the one to grin through chaos, sat in rare stillness. When he finally spoke, his voice carried none of its usual playfulness.
"We all felt it. For the first time in existence...
We were prey."
A younger god slammed his hand on the armrest of his throne.
"Why was he even allowed to fight for mankind?! That thing isn't human!"
The answer came from the shadows, unannounced and defiant.
Brunhilde stepped into the chamber, her cloak trailing behind her like ink in water.
"No. He's not human," she said. "He's what we became gods to protect humanity from.
He is judgment—walking."
The gods fell silent again.
Anubis tilted his jackal head with curiosity.
"Then why did he fight for them?"
Brunhilde's smile was not triumphant—it was bittersweet.
"Because even after everything he's endured… after all he's erased from time…
He still believes humanity is worth saving.
That's what makes him terrifying.
He doesn't fight for vengeance.
He fights for hope."
A long silence followed.
Then Odin spoke once more, voice carefully measured.
"What if we refuse the result? What if we demand a rematch?"
Before anyone could answer, the light in the chamber dimmed. The temperature dropped.
A whisper curled through the air—neither voice nor sound, but something older. Something final.
It echoed through every god's mind, bypassing their ears and reaching deeper.
"Do you want to see what I do to sore losers?"
Every deity froze.
Odin's eye closed.
Zeus exhaled.
Shiva muttered: "He's listening."
Brunhilde turned, walking away from the stunned council.
"You asked for a champion," she said without looking back.
"And we gave you the end of all things."
Scene 1: The World Reacts
Location: Earth – Weeks After the Final Battle
The world had changed.
Not just because humanity had survived—but because they now understood why. And who had saved them.
Across cities, towns, even remote villages, murals of Nero Angelo began to appear. Sacred graffiti. Some depicted him as a dark angel, wings of shadow stretched wide. Others showed him as a solitary man, standing amidst ruin—unarmed, eyes distant, haunted.
News broadcasts debated his nature. Was he a god? A weapon? A myth? Or something far older?
"He came out of nowhere," said one anchor. "And erased the greatest threat we've ever seen—without even trying."
Religious texts were rewritten. Online conspiracies surged. Songs, poems, and legends sprouted overnight. Children whispered his name when they were afraid of the dark—not from fear, but for comfort.
But Nero never returned.
No interviews. No sightings. No trace.
Only one message remained—etched into the shattered stone of the arena where gods once stood:
"I am not your hero.
I simply refuse to lose anyone else."
Scene 2: Nero and the Valkyrie
Location: A quiet mountain ridge overlooking the arena ruins
The Valkyrie—Eira—stood alone, wind rustling her silver hair. Her armor was gone, replaced by a soft dress of white and gray. In her hands, she held a single white lily.
"Still hiding, Nero?" she asked the wind.
The shadows behind her stirred.
Nero appeared silently, as if stepping out of thought itself. His long, dark cloak dragged against the grass like mist. His pale silver eyes didn't glow—but the weight behind them hadn't faded.
"I wasn't hiding," he said. "Just… breathing."
Eira turned, her expression caught somewhere between relief and sadness.
"You were gone for weeks."
"I needed time," Nero answered. "Too many faces I remember. Too many I can't forget."
The wind whispered between them. Far below, the ruins of the divine arena shimmered faintly in the dying light.
"You kept your promise," she said. "You didn't let me get blood on me."
Nero gave a faint smile.
"You cried. That hurt more than a thousand gods ever could."
She stepped closer, barely a breath between them.
"Are you going to vanish again?"
He looked at her, steady and quiet.
"Probably."
Eira let out a soft laugh, almost a sigh.
"Then at least let me thank you."
He tilted his head.
She rose to her toes and kissed his cheek—not with fire, not with longing, but with something far rarer.
Trust.
Then she whispered:
"Even if you erase the world… don't erase yourself."
Nero said nothing.
He simply closed his eyes, letting the moment drift into silence.
And when Eira opened hers—
He was gone.
Only the lily remained, resting in the grass where he had stood.
(The End.)