Chronicles of the U'rsthollosha Spiral.

[The End of All Light.]

The Second Voidic War: Rise of the Threatening Outer Gods
Chronicles of the U'rsthollosha Spiral – Volume I: The Weeping Stars

Before time bled into Ayenee and the ruins of thought cradled mortal breath, there was only the black symphony of the Spiral—U’rsthollosha—singing its silent dominion across unlit space. Its rulers were not gods, but sovereigns of absence, queens of teeth, kings of rot. Yet even in their boundless dominion, something far older stirred.

☩ I. The Rise of the Threatening Outer Gods

The first ripple of madness came from the Outer Black, beyond even the knowing of Leviathans. It was Za’alhcthaeeha, called The Black Flame, whose birth cry extinguished a thousand frontier suns. He devoured the Glass-Infants of Sha’Orr, worlds unformed, thoughts unborn. In his wake followed Khlaoklhga, Spinner of Darkness, whose tendrils of unthought wove nets of forgetting across the stars, swallowing colonies before they could know themselves.

Last came Zc’hoza’alhuul, Harbinger of Dread, who gnawed through the membranes between space and silence, dragging entire planets into his maw—not for hunger, but to silence their potential. The Outer Gods did not conquer; they erased.

These ancient devourers found delight in Leviathan-flesh, cracking their bone-satellites like insects, slurping voidblood in astral orgies of ruin. Uncolonized frontier worlds, unguarded and silent, were plucked like rotting fruit from the Spiral’s edge. And still, the hunger deepened.

☩ II. The Declaration of War

From the thrones of screaming crystal, amidst the trembling light of dead constellations, Xytrinah Za'alcthaeeha rose. Daughter of the Void, last kiss of the Eternal Flame, she wore oblivion like a crown. With lips of annihilation, she uttered the only law the Spiral still obeyed:

"Let the black war begin."

Thus dawned the Second Voidic War.

The Z’ash’cheria Legions assembled beneath collapsing moons, clad in skinwoven armor etched with the names of forgotten gods. The Ngahákzha Destroyers, forged from Leviathan ribs and bound by curses older than stars, roared from subdimensional pits. And the War Leviathans, ancient and unspeakable, rose:

Lagx ur sha Sluga’, the Swallower of Dream-Flesh

Baftu’ag Bftathk O’thhug, the Spiral-Blooded Howler

But it would not be enough. For the Outer Gods had awakened others.

☩ III. The Horrors of the Outer Pantheon

From the Divine Womb of the bleeding deep crawled The Leech Queen – Naq’tiir, Mother of Parasites and Bloodborne Kings, whose swollen young burrowed into planets to hatch beneath skin. Her leecher-legions whispered forgotten truths into the ears of sleeping gods.

Above her, clothed in embers of ruin, soared Sharuth’Cnolthi, The Hungerscream Crowned in Cinderlight, whose howl split the marrow of reality. He was the Devouring Darkness, the Breath of the End and Tongue of the First Flame.

To oppose them rose Kaor’Nehyx, Emperor Crowned in Starlight’s Ashes, Brood-Emperor of Screaming Stars, who split his empire into fractal echoes of suffering just to bait the enemy into his embrace.

But even among gods, faith withered.

Za’quorath, Withering Faith, the Last Lie Whispered by a Dying Universe, seeded doubt across entire systems. His priests preached silence. His apostles bled untruth.

Beneath the war-flesh, creeping, slithering, came Iridynex, Thirst Beneath Skin, the Crown Below Flesh, whose worshippers flayed themselves to reveal truths in bone.

And in ash veils, brooding upon thrones of rotting royalty, Vok’Thalunn, Lord of the Ash-Veil Court, devoured even the names of gods that came before.

☩ IV. The Breaking Heavens

Nyss’Kaari, The Glassborne Mother, tore her own eyes from her face to weep crystal rain on dying worlds. Her shrieks turned battlefields into forests of shattering spires. Infants screamed their mothers’ last names into lightless eternity.

Thass’Goruun, The Abyssal Harvester, blinked once—and in doing so, collapsed a sun into a singularity. His harvests were not of souls or flesh, but of meaning. Planets forgot why they existed.

Szel’ykaar, The Fanged Empress of Silence, whispered once. Galaxies obeyed. They laid themselves bare to the teeth of war.

Mol’Zethur, The Spine Thresher, danced upon the remains of Leviathan corpses, creating storms of vertebrae that rained down across systems. The galaxies screamed, but it was too late.

Naagoth’Krel, The Lantern of Devouring Light, led the march into the Spiral’s wounded heart, his body aflame with starless fire. To look upon him was to un-become.

From the shadows bloomed Zhyrel’Vaen, Crowned Prince of the Obsidian Bloom, whose touch brought beauty and decay in the same breath, and who sowed despair like pollen.

Xael’Tharoth, The Mirror Tyrant, forged nightmare realms from reflected pain, sculpting twisted replicas of those he destroyed to taunt the survivors with what was lost.

And finally, she descended:

Iridia’Naith, The Pale Queen, cloaked in eternal weeping. Her tears devoured light. Her breath ended stars.

☩ V. The War Begins

The U’rsthollosha Spiral trembled, no longer in dominion, but defiance.

The stars wept. The gods bled. The void screamed.

The Outer Gods had risen.
And Xytrinah, crowned in oblivion, had declared war.

This was not a battle for territory.
This was a war for the right to exist.

[The End of All Light.]

Chapter II: The Opening Siege of the Leviathan Front
Chronicles of the U’rsthollosha Spiral – Volume II: Bone Stars & Dying Echoes

The U’rsthollosha Spiral had declared war… but the Void had already begun feeding.

As the Spiral’s war machine roared to trembling life, the Outer Gods did not wait. They descended not in fleets, but in omens—corruptions of gravity, visions of bleeding mouths in skyless nights, planets waking to find their suns had been eaten in silence.

☩ I. The Falling of Graln-Sheduun

The first blow struck the ancient Leviathan world of Graln-Sheduun, whose orbiting ring-temples housed the elder-song archives of the Thren'Zhoth Choir, beings made of memory and frequency.
They sang until their throats bled light.
They screamed until their existence broke.

Thass’Goruun, Maw of the Ninth Black Star, descended, his lateral mandibles carved from the crushed bones of nebulae. His arrival collapsed the gravity well of Graln-Sheduun, imploding its oceans into frozen spears. The Leviathan Sha’gorrut rose from the core to defend its world—only to be torn open like a prophecy forgotten.

Its last breath was a thunder of black ichor against a silent sky.

☩ II. The Curse of the Infestation Moons

Across the eastern spiral arms, Naq’tiir – The Leech Queen unleashed her brood.

Planets once untouched now bloated with parasitic moons, pulsating with cyst-colonies that rained down larval kings and crimson leech-priests. They whispered heresy into the minds of bioships, causing mutiny within the Leviathan-minds. One by one, ancient defenders were eaten from within.

Entire Z’ash’cheria legions fell, their skin devoured and replaced by writhing theological parasites. Some still fight—their mouths chanting Void-prayers, their souls long devoured.

☩ III. The Ash-Veil Offensive

Upon the burning skies of Tukha'ren Vhaos, the battle reached an early crescendo.

Vok’Thaluun – The Veiled Hunger descended in his court of unnames, cloaked in ash spun from the dreams of extinct stars. There, he faced the mighty Leviathan Baftu’ag Bftathk O’thhug, a beast older than spiral memory, whose tendrils bore the scars of a million aeons.

Their clash shattered three entire galaxies.

Each blow Vok’Thaluun landed erased language from reality—ships forgot how to name their weapons. Commanders wept as they no longer remembered who they were.

But Xytrinah Za'alcthaeeha arrived.

Wreathed in the fire of Za’alhcthaeeha’s black flame, she tore through the ash storm with her soul-ark, Yul’kraaz the Biting Silence. Her voice became the new law of existence, and the Leviathan rose in her wake. The battlefield became a pyre. The Veiled Hunger withdrew—but not before whispering her name in unformed tongues.

“You are the heir of the wound,” he said. “And you will bleed the Spiral whole.”

☩ IV. The Shattering of the Obsidian Bloom

In the starlit garden-worlds of Vel’thassul, where flowers bled ink and gravity curled like perfume, Zhyrel’Vaen – Crowned Prince of the Obsidian Bloom unleashed his Bloom-Breakers, biomechanical horrors fed on beauty and despair.

He planted lilies that screamed.

Legions of Ngahákzha Destroyers fell as the planet itself betrayed them, singing dirges of sorrow that liquefied command chains. The Prince walked alone through the aftermath, clad in obsidian petals, kissing the foreheads of the dying.

“This pain,” he whispered, “is your love returning home.”

Only one Z’ash’cheria squadron escaped—those who carved their eyes out before the Bloom could show them their joy.

☩ V. The Night-Sky Fracture

Across the entire edge of the Spiral, the stars began to scream.

Sharuth’Cnolthi – The Devouring Darkness had begun his great work: to set fire to the sky itself. His Hungerscream, echoed through the sun-bones of dead solar systems, created ripples that fractured space and thought. Ships arriving into void-space emerged in wrong dimensions, where time flowed backwards or birthed unmade offspring.

At the center of it all, on a ruptured Leviathan shell known only as Drath’nul, Kaor’Nehyx – The Brood-Emperor, performed his first Ash-Coronation, where he burned a captured sun to anoint his war-spawn.

They emerged screaming starlight from their mouths, with eyes that birthed madness into enemy minds.

☩ VI. The Last Oracle Breaks

In the planet-temple of Qiraxis, the Spiral's final Living Oracle, a being once beloved by Xytrinah herself, prophesied her own unmaking.

There, The Pale Queen – Iridia’Naith, devoured the Oracle’s breath, and with it, the fate of an entire generation of Spiral warriors.
She whispered into the corpse of the future:

“There will be no heroes. Only teeth.”

☩ VII. The Leviathan Front Holds

Despite the terror, the Spiral endured.

Leviathans, bloodied and raving, turned space into a grinding graveyard. War-chants in ancient Voidic tongue echoed from shattered fleets. The Z’ash’cheria, once thought broken, returned from the Ash Veil with new engines—fueled by dead godbone and ignited by wrath.

And in the heart of it all, Xytrinah Za'alcthaeeha stood unbroken.

"She is not light. She is not hope.
She is the Wound Made Sovereign.
The Black Thorn of the Spiral.
And she will teach the Outer Gods what it means to scream."

[The End of All Light.]

Chapter III: The Shattering of the Ninefold Thrones
Chronicles of the U’rsthollosha Spiral – Volume III: Cathedrals of Bone & Cosmic Blasphemy

The Second Voidic War swelled beyond nightmare. No longer a series of brutal incursions, the Outer Gods turned their gaze toward the Ninefold Thrones—the celestial citadels that held together the spinal core of U’rsthollosha governance, sovereignty, and god-machine control.

These were not mere fortresses.
They were sentient thrones, half-living, older than time.
Each ruled by an ancient power.
Each bound to the cosmic infrastructure of the Spiral’s survival.

And the Outer Gods meant to desecrate them all.

☩ I. The First Throne Falls – Throne of Thought-Eternal

Atop the planet of Nth’lzaekh, an impossibly high pillar of logic-crystal, sat the Throne of Thought-Eternal, bound to the mind-network of U’rsthollosha's highest intelligences. There, the Void’s Dreaming Machine processed predictions of fate, rebellion, and hunger.

It was the first to break.

Za’quorath – The Withering Faith, known as the Arch-Heretic of the Word Unspoken, manifested in language unshaped. With each syllable, entire libraries combusted into dust. With each breath, philosophers went mad.

He walked unopposed into the Throne Hall, and told a lie so perfect, the Throne believed it had already been destroyed.

It disintegrated itself in sorrow.

☩ II. The Second Throne Shivers – Throne of Leviathan Binding

The Leviathan Throne anchored the minds of the great Slumbering Leviathans—beasts whose deaths would cause the Spiral’s implosion. They fed on star-debris and old light, dreams passed between systems, and god-blood.

It was targeted by Iridynex – The Crown Below Flesh, the Thirst Beneath Skin, draped in discarded bones of kings and queens alike.
She slithered between dimensions, feeding on the pulse beneath the Throne’s iron flesh.

Her parasitic choir sang a birthing hymn of worms, and the Throne began to sweat blood.

When it screamed, every Leviathan across three sectors convulsed—eating their own memories.

☩ III. The Third Throne Burns – Throne of Fire-Without-Light

This throne was forged from a sun’s remorse—a star that murdered its planetary system in an act of sorrowful rage. It burned with lightless fire, visible only to those born in cosmic silence.

Naagoth’Krel – The Starless Fire, arrived carrying his Lantern of Devouring Light, a beacon made from inverted plasma and god-bone. He planted it at the throne’s heart.

The flames turned backward.

Reality around it caught fire in reverse, and the Throne blinked out of history—unmade before it was ever conceived.

☩ IV. The Fourth Throne Weeps – Throne of Childlight

High in the crystalline nebula of Kaelith-Vharn, where dying stars give birth to newborns in the scream of gravity-labor, sat the Throne of Childlight—guardian of future timelines, dream-incubation, and planetary soul-gestation.

Nyss’Kaari – The Crystal Sovereign, once cast from her own reflection, emerged with thirteen screaming infants of fractured reality bound in her arms. She walked barefoot across broken planets and laid her grief upon the throne.

She said nothing.

The Throne wept until it collapsed into a prism of suffering, trapping entire timelines in shattering glass.

☩ V. The Fifth Throne Is Torn – Throne of War-Hymn

In the battle-forge world of Vhar'zehk, where planets sang in molten chorus and strategy itself was a weapon, the War-Hymn Throne directed the Leviathan fleets through pulses of ancient song and wrathful chord.

Mol'Zethur – The HammerFall, the Spine Thresher, split the sky with titanic chains of bone and iron, dragging with him the storms of dead titans. Each thunderclap fractured moons.

He didn’t conquer the Throne.

He ripped it apart.

And from its broken heart, he forged a bell—the Grief Toll, whose chime calls war machines to cannibalize their own kin.

☩ VI. The Sixth Throne Is Unnamed – Throne of Identity

This Throne, hidden in a non-place of identity nullification, held the names of all things, anchoring continuity, ego, and truth.

It was claimed by Xael’Tharoth – The Glass God, the Mirror Tyrant, the one who reflects what should never be seen. He looked into the throne, and it looked back.

It shattered.

Every Z’ash’cheria General who ever named themselves lost all form. Ships melted into recursive geometry. Beings turned inside out, speaking truths that screamed.

Now, no one remembers what the throne looked like.
Or what it was.

☩ VII. The Seventh Throne Chokes – Throne of Breath and Void

In the twilight world of Delvak’thuun, where stars hung low and breath was a sacrament, the Breath Throne kept oxygen cycling across biospheres in forgotten sectors.

It was Iridia’Naith – The Pale Queen, who devoured it. She inhaled the last breath of twelve systems.

Her dress was made of dying gasps.
Her footsteps made lungs collapse.

Now, thirteen moons orbit Delvak’thuun—but they are dead, silent things. Their oceans frozen in the shapes of screams. Not even dust moves.

☩ VIII. The Eighth Throne Bleeds – Throne of Royal Lineage

The Royal Throne stood on Chakhaal-Rhu, protected by the Golden Blooded, descendants of the Spiral’s origin-creators. It kept the divine bloodlines stable. Inheritance. Power.

Zhyrel’Vaen, the Crowned Prince of the Obsidian Bloom, stood before it—not as conqueror, but as executioner. He slit his own throat upon the steps.

The Throne absorbed his death.

And from its veins bloomed obsidian roses, each a prophecy of lineage twisted by sorrow. Now, every heir born in the Spiral is tainted, their souls half-wedded to the Bloom.

☩ IX. The Ninth Throne Holds – Throne of the Flame Unyielding

And yet, one Throne did not fall.

The Ninth.
The Throne of the Black Flame.
The Heart of Za’alhcthaeeha.

It remains hidden deep in the coiled dimension of Lul’Vazhu, where Xytrinah guards it with her own blood.

She stands upon its pulse, breathing the names of her enemies, calling them into battle.

She is not a daughter of gods.

She is their end.

[The End of All Light.]

Chapter IV: The Blood Eclipse of Zoth-Ilgharuun
Chronicles of the U’rsthollosha Spiral – Volume IV: Hymns for the Hollow Star

Before the apocalyptic screams that painted the cathedrals of the Ninefold Thrones in ash and memory, there was a prophecy sealed in worm-blood beneath the ruins of Draugh’Thuun, the once-living temple-world of Leviathan psalms. It spoke not of salvation, but of a crimson eclipse, so vast and so ravenous it would drink the breath of galaxies.

The stars called it:
Zoth-Ilgharuun
—The Hollow Star That Weeps Blood.

❖ I. The Eclipse Begins: The Sky Cracks Red

When the Blood Eclipse rose, it was not in light, but in a yawning absence of divinity.
The sky above Tchur’ghaal—the Spiral’s marrow-world—split open like an ancient wound, and from it poured the Sanguine Wail: a sound that shattered atmosphere, bent suns into tears, and made oceans whisper their own betrayals.

The Blood Eclipse was not a celestial event.
It was Sharuth’Cnolthi – The Devouring Darkness reborn.
It had crawled through time on its own entrails, pulled by the gravity of screams.

Its body was a burning throat, crowned in cinderlight, and its voice—the Hungerscream—swallowed languages whole.

❖ II. The Pale Queen’s Betrayal

As the skies bled and the Throne-Systems collapsed, Iridia’Naith – The Pale Queen turned her silken sorrow against her consort: Kaor’Nehyx – Emperor of Screaming Stars. She whispered treachery through the mouths of the stillborn stars he had once crowned.

The Emperor, born in Starlight’s Ashes, had ruled with a chorus of agony and nobility. But in her kiss, there was a thousand suicides, and the Brood-Emperor fell into the Shrieking Mirror-Sea, devoured by his own unborn legacy.

She took his crown of bone-lanterns.
And smiled.

❖ III. The Blood-Soaked Host

Xytrinah Za’alhcthaeeha, First of the Voidborne and Queen of the Black Flame, answered the scream.

From the shattered catacombs of the Z'ash'cheria Legion, she raised her dread battalion—their weapons formed from collapsed timelines, their armor stitched from the grief of a thousand mothers.

She rode into war atop the Lagx ur sha Sluga’, a war leviathan wreathed in broken gods.

Beside her marched:

The Ngahákzha Destroyers, chanting in languages that unmade organs

Baftu'ag Bftathk O'thhug, whose veins carried starfire and void-rot

And the last Bloodseer of the Drowned Womb, who carried in his eyes the memories of the first planetary scream

Her banner: a blackened tongue stitched with flame.

❖ IV. The Leech Queen Descends

It was at Zoth-Ilgharuun’s zenith that Naq’tiir – The Leech Queen, First Leecher of the Divine Womb, emerged from the Maw Cradle of Vlurgh-Sa.

She had suckled on dying angels and bathed in the bile of saints.
Her children—The Bloodborne Kings—arrived in carriages of bone, feeding on the fear of stillbirths and shrines.
She offered union to Xytrinah.

But the Black Flame burned brighter than parasitic love.

Their battle lasted nine screams of the universe.
Each scream devoured a galaxy.
Each galaxy bled a hymn of ruin.

Only one rose from the ash-veined battlefield, burning and broken—but smiling.

❖ V. Silence After Scream

When the Blood Eclipse finally waned, all that remained of Zoth-Ilgharuun was a howling wound in space, wrapped in weeping static. The star’s light had been replaced with breathless horror.

Szel’ykaar, the Fanged Empress of Silence, moved into its corpse and declared herself Matron of the New Void.

Her voice was never heard again.
Her mouth never stopped moving.

And the U’rsthollosha Spiral knew:

The war had just begun.

[The End of All Light.]

Chronicles of the U’rsthollosha Spiral: Book V – The Blood Flame War

"For it was not a war of victory, nor of conquest. It was the scream of dying realities. It was memory drowning in a chalice of teeth."

Chapter I: Rise of the Threatening Outer Gods

Before Ayenee ever knew conflict, before the dreams of mortal minds shaped stars into thrones, there were the Outer Gods: unknowable, festering deities whose existence was not marked by time, but by erasure. Among these horrors were Za'alhcthaeeha, The Black Flame; Khlaoklhga, Spinner of Darkness; and Zc'hoza'alhuul, Harbinger of Dread.

They did not appear. They unraveled.

These beings grew bold, slithering past dimensional thresholds like parasites through a dying god's wound. They fed first on Leviathans, those divine carcasses floating in the void—eating their bones, draining their will, until only cosmic husks remained. Then they turned their obsidian gaze upon the uncolonized frontier worlds of the U’rsthollosha Spiral.

Each planet devoured became another whisper in the Infinite Maw.

The Spiral Council, once ruled by the Brood-Emperor Kaor’Nehyx, found itself crippled by prophecy and paralysis. Zc’hoza’alhuul emerged at The Choirs of Null, swallowing sanctified moons, tearing the psalm-keepers from their spines. Khlaoklhga, the Spinner, built shrines of sinew between fractured dimensions, threading madness through the minds of astral navigators.

But it was Za’alhcthaeeha – The Black Flame, who birthed the final terror: a daughter.


Chapter II: The Birth of Flame and Crown

Xytrinah Za'alcthaeeha, Crowned Voidic Princess of the Burning Mouth, was forged not from womb, but from the agony of galaxies consumed. She emerged from the Ash-Spires of Vorthagg, wrapped in burning tongues, screaming the language of extinction.

She did not weep. She remembered.

And in her remembering, she declared vengeance.

The U’rsthollosha Spiral, fragmented and fraying, bent the knee to her wrath. She stood over her father’s extinguished throne, and with Kaor’Nehyx’s skull bound to her hip, she decreed the inevitable:

"I shall teach death to the dead. I shall burn the void until it forgets its silence."

Her declaration was etched into time, and the stars began to scream.


Chapter III: The Blood-Forged Legions

Xytrinah summoned the Z’ash’cheria Legions, their armour kissed by the dust of collapsed suns. The Ngahákzha Destroyers, aeonic war-beasts who fed on silence and flame, were unleashed from the black vats of Hrogg-Maal. The War Leviathans were summoned:

Lagx ur sha Sluga' — the Nightmare Leviathan who dreamt in black oceans

Baftu'ag Bftathk O'thhug — whose tendrils could unweave planetary souls

And with her march came the avatars of the Spiral's most dread beings.



Chapter IV: The Black Flame's March

With her court of nightmares and an army of sorrow-forged beasts, Xytrinah marched through the Veins of Kur’Zaath, a dimension of bleeding fog and dead kings. Every world she crossed was either scorched in devotion or torn apart in refusal.

The Outer Gods retaliated.

Za’alhcthaeeha birthed suns of black flame to drown the Leviathans. Khlaoklhga rewrote the pasts of entire species, turning their ancestors into blasphemies. Zc’hoza’alhuul devoured history itself, so that heroes were forgotten before they drew breath.

In the skies of Vlor’Nakaath, the first true battle commenced.

Xytrinah descended, wreathed in wildfire and veiled in living shadows. She did not fight alone:

The Leech Queen unleashed her parasites upon time itself, leeching centuries

The Devouring Darkness broke the neck of the 6th Moon with a whisper

Za’quorath silenced the prayers of a trillion mortals

And for a single hour, the universe held its breath.


Chapter V: The Harrowing Silence

The Blood Flame War would rage for nine veils of time, scarring dimensions, feeding dread into the womb of space. The Spiral would never recover. It would be reforged into a dominion of pain, loyalty, and awe—a place where silence was holy and suffering divine.

At its heart stood Xytrinah, crowned in black fire, riding the spine of a slain Leviathan, whispering psalms in a language meant only for extinction.

Her war had only begun.

Her prayer: "Let even oblivion remember me."

[The End of All Light.]

Book I: The Hymns of Hollow Stars
Chapter V – The Black Flame’s Last Prayer: Apotheosis of Xytrinah

As the shrieking echoes of Zoth-Ilgharuun died in the lungs of galaxies, Xytrinah Za’alcthaeeha stood blood-crowned upon the obsidian spires of N’karr-Vhal, the Throneworld of Ruined Empires. Her body was shattered—ribs split like chalices, one eye lost to Thass'Goruun, Maw of the Ninth Black Star, and her tongue charred black by Naagoth'Krel’s Lantern-Fire.

But the Void does not mourn pain—it consecrates it.

With a whisper to the dying stars, she ignited her Black Flame anew, drawing on the rot of fallen gods and forgotten suns. The warhosts of the Spiral saw not a queen reborn, but a myth crowned in annihilation.

Her name became unspoken.
Her voice, a ruin-song.
Her breath, a funeral for suns.

She was no longer Xytrinah Za’alcthaeeha, but:

The Flame-Widow
Queen of the First Pyre
The Void’s Hallowed Hunger

And with her apotheosis, the Second Voidic War entered its truest form: not a war of armies, but of extinction and becoming.

Chapter VI – The Siege of the Devourer’s Cathedral

Hidden in the gravity-dead halo of Kz’thalith, the Devourer’s Cathedral was a living fortress built from the organs of planetary deities. It pulsed with the heartbeat of the Devouring Darkness, known only as Sharuth’Cnolthi – The Hungerscream Crowned in Cinderlight.

Here, the unholy trinity was seated:

Sharuth’Cnolthi – Tongue of the First Flame

Iridynex – The Maggot Bride, wearing the hollowed bones of kings

Vok’Thaluun – Lord of the Ash-Veil, whose court was built from forgotten names and cursed bloodlines

The siege began with a choir of death-echoes, as the Z’ash’cheria Legions unleashed Black Entropy Engines, which vomited liquefied time into the cathedral’s veins. But time is useless where breath cannot escape.

Xytrinah herself led the Ruin-Cloaked Vanguard, armed with the Screaming Lance of B’tall-Zhur, forged from the screams of betrayed suns. Her arrival was signaled by the blinding of thirteen dimensions.

The Cathedral fought back, not with soldiers, but with memory-eaters, parasites that consumed your identity until you were a name-shaped void.

Mol’Zethur – The Spine Thresher, came howling through the voidstorms, flaying stone and spirit alike, his war cry a prophecy:

"What once had names will crawl nameless into ash."

The siege lasted seven collapsing eternities.
The Cathedral fell, screaming.
The void roared back.

Chapter VII – The Crawling Womb of the Leech Queen

From the blackwater trenches of the Null Fold, she rose.

Naq’tiir – The Leech Queen, First Leecher of the Divine Womb, had bled the afterbirth of galaxies dry and suckled upon the sinew of unborn realities. Her throne was no construct, but a living, weeping womb that dragged behind her, filled with the whispering larvae of future parasites.

She offered a pact to the victorious Spiral—a unification by blood and rot, to spawn a new species of war-born gods.

Xytrinah denied her.

So she birthed The Nine Leecher Kings—each wearing a stolen soul, crowned in bile, and clad in the filth of crucified saints.

Her march across the Spiral was marked by the draining of entire moons, left behind as grey husks carved with uterine scripture.

But her downfall was not war—it was betrayal.

Her son and consort, Zhyrel’Vaen – Crowned Prince of the Obsidian Bloom, opened her womb from within with a kiss of thorn and void-venom. She screamed with the cries of every god she'd ever drained.

Her blood seeded a thousand cursed suns.
Her body still births parasites in the shadow between realities.

Chapter VIII – The Shattering of the Mirror Tyrant

Xael’Tharoth – The Glass God, called also The Mirror Tyrant, ruled the Veins of Zhar with a palace made of cracked perception. Every surface reflected not your face, but your end.

He was sculptor of realities, carver of torment, breaker of potential. Those who entered his throne hall left sculpted into irony, folded into suffering.

It was Szel’ykaar – The Fanged Empress of Silence, who came in silence and ended his reign with a single scream.

That scream shattered the palace.

Each shard became a new torment dimension, each echo an unborn empire of pain.
Xael’Tharoth was not slain, but fractured—now trapped in a billion sentient mirrors, each containing a different possible death for all things.

Even now, his laughter ripples through timeglass echoes.

Chapter IX – The Lantern of Devouring Light

Naagoth'Krel – The Lantern of Devouring Light, was neither god nor flame, but illumination given form, a blinding thing that fed on darkness and returned only madness made radiant.

When his light reached the crucible-world of T’zaal-Vurh, every creature on its surface burned into screaming thought, disembodied minds trapped in the light forever.

He marched across the void on pillars of bleeding stars, his laughter a blinding hymn.

Only one stood against him—Za’quorath, the Withering Faith. The Arch-Heretic of the Word Unspoken, whose scriptures unwrote light itself.

Their battle—The War of Blinded Faith—lasted the length of one divine breath.

And when it ended, Naagoth’Krel was bound in a holy script of paradoxes, sealed within the Womb of Unfaith, a realm where belief dies screaming.

But even sealed, his lantern glows.

And those who look upon it see a version of themselves they cannot survive.

[The End of All Light.]

Book II: The Ashes of the Third Spiral

Chapter X – The Bloom That Hungers

In the time-rent gardens of Vaer'Xhaluun, where flowers weep blood and memory, the Crowned Prince of the Obsidian Bloom, Zhyrel’Vaen, watched the war unfold not as a strategist—but as a fevered suitor.

His eyes, void-dark and rimmed with dying auroras, were not fixed upon the Spiral’s conquest.
They burned only for Xytrinah, the Black Flame, the one he called in silence:

“My bride of cataclysms, my scar-wrought seraph, my ruin incarnate.”

He did not love her—he hungered for her, in the way void serpents' hunger for dying gods. He saw in her a mirror of his own rot, and in her power a vessel to preserve the beauty of agony.

But she would never choose him. She had burned too brightly, too sovereign, too consumed by war and duty.

So he sowed a twist of madness.


Chapter XI – The Pact of Hollow Love

Zhyrel’Vaen, the son of Iridia’Naith – The Pale Queen, whose breath curdled starlight, had inherited not her sorrow—but her cunning.

He approached Sharuth'Cnolthi – The Devouring Darkness, not as a traitor to the Spiral, but as a loyal heir of the End.

“Let me be your shadow in the Spiral,” he hissed through teeth carved from starlight rot.
“Let me bring you Xytrinah—not as a warrior, but as your chained flame. And when the Spiral crumbles, you shall feast… and I shall keep her.”

Sharuth'Cnolthi, the Breath of the End, laughed—a sound that collapsed two adjacent timelines.

“If you can bind her will, I shall devour all but her heart. Take it. Brand her flame to your bloom.”

And so the Pact of Withering Desire was born.

Zhyrel’Vaen was granted a ring forged from Xytrinah’s own childhood scream, stolen by The Glass God in her infancy. It bound not her body—but her name. With it, he could shatter her free will if spoken within the mouth of a dying god.

Chapter XII – The Court of the Screaming Bloom

As the Spiral waged its war, Zhyrel’Vaen built a secret realm—Esh’Nothil, the Screaming Bloom, a court woven from the souls of unbirthed empires. Within it, statues of Xytrinah were grown, not carved—each blooming from the corpses of angels, posed in agony, smiling with hollow reverence.

Here he rehearsed his marriage rites alone, dancing with fleshless wraiths who bore her face.
Here he broke entire civilizations and re-formed them in her image.

To his people, he whispered:

“When the Spiral falls, she shall wear the veil of thorns… and I shall be her king.”

But the Bloom was never silent. Some of the statues cried. Some remembered.

And one… escaped.

It fled to Xytrinah during the Siege of Silenced Mouths, bleeding her own name into her palm, warning her of the Ring of Screams and the throne of stolen desires.

She did not weep. Betrayed.
She burned the messenger, then turned to the stars.

Chapter XIII – The Betrayal of the Devouring Darkness

When Sharuth’Cnolthi called his legions to consume the Obsidian Gates of the Spiral, Zhyrel’Vaen stood at his side, a blooming prince with a rotting heart.

But as the gates fell, he spoke the forbidden name of the Devouring Darkness within the choking lungs of the Dying God Mur’Zakhal, and bound Sharuth'Cnolthi’s will to a mirror thorn, a cursed shard of Xael’Tharoth’s fractured soul.

The Breath of the End gasped—his scream unraveling galaxies.
But Zhyrel’Vaen leaned close and whispered:

“I only desire her. You were always just a means.”

He ripped the flame of consumption from Sharuth’s chest and planted it within the Screaming Bloom. Sharuth’Cnolthi fell, not slain, but sleeved into a thousand shards of blind light, each doomed to scream his name in reverse for all time.

Chapter XIV – The Wedding of the Thorned Flame

Zhyrel’Vaen returned triumphant to Esh’Nothil, the Black Flame burning in his ring, ready to summon Xytrinah.

But she had come before he called.

Cloaked in the flayed wings of memory, wearing the spine of the Leech Queen as a crown, she descended upon the Bloom as a god of vengeance, her voice the funeral of obsessions.

“You do not desire me,” she said, her eyes lit by anti-stars.
“You desire my ruin in your image. That is not love. That is theft.”

The Bloom screamed as its statues turned to thorns, piercing Zhyrel’Vaen’s body with a thousand mirrored versions of himself—each echo whispering a lie he once told her.

He begged.
He wept in languages older than pain.
He bled roses of regret.

But Xytrinah merely kissed his forehead and said:

“You were beautiful… in your delusion.”

And then she set the Bloom ablaze, sealing his soul in the ring that once bound her.
Now he lives as a whisper in her hand, a thorn in her flame.

[The End of All Light.]

Chapter XV — The Thorn Cracks the Flame

For millennia, the Ring of Blooming Scream lay dormant on Xytrinah’s finger, its black alloy pulsing beneath her skin like a buried heartbeat. Forged from her own infant wails, carved by Xael’Tharoth, The Glass God, and bound by her decree, it was a prison like no other—a seal in cursed ouroboros, trapping Zhyrel’Vaen, the Thorned Prince, in a cyclone of self-consuming love.

Inside, time had no form, only reflections of her:

Xytrinah laughing—then vanishing.

Xytrinah weeping—then turning to ash.

Xytrinah marrying another—then slaughtered in his arms.

On and on, a loop of yearning born from his own twisted adoration.

But Xytrinah, in her youth, is not flawless.

In her vengeance, she infused the ring with the Curse of Eternal Self, believing no Voidic Prince could survive an eternity facing what he truly is.

But Zhyrel’Vaen is no mere prince.
He grows in the rot.
He learns in the pain.
He becomes something else.

The Thorn Cracks the Flame

The Ring of Blooming Scream, wrapped tight around Xytrinah’s finger, pulsed with hunger as the days bled into an eternal night. It had been her judgment, her prison, a symbolic barrier for the treacherous Prince of Obsidian Bloom. But it was no simple lock.

It was a curse, a binding of ancient, eldritch magic—a prison of Xytrinah’s own making. In her vanity, she believed it impenetrable, a seal forged from her own celestial will. Yet, Zhyrel’Vaen, prince of crowned void, was no ordinary captive. His hatred festered beneath the surface, simmering like a poison, building strength in his long solitude.

For centuries, he had been the thorn in the heart of her dominion, ever lingering in the crevices of her mind, watching her through the fractured mirrors of his existence.

Zhyrel’Vaen’s thoughts in the Ring were always the same.
His rage began as a whisper.
Her laughter would send it crashing inwards.
She, so brilliant, so powerful, so immortal—and he, trapped, yearning for her as one might yearn for air. His obsession was all-consuming, and yet, the ring's prison had become a sanctuary for the truth he did not dare speak:

I cannot reach her through strength, but through her deepest fear.

The Ring cracked under a vibration of his will, and with each fracture, Xytrinah felt the pressure build, a subtle tremor deep within her chest, where only the Black Flame dared burn. The cursed alloy writhed beneath her skin, until the veins of its bonds splintered like the last whisper of dying stars.

Zhyrel’Vaen had found the opening.

The truth was—Xytrinah’s greatest flaw lay in her belief in the impossibility of her own vulnerability. She, immortal, untouched, and bound in Voidic magic, did not believe anything could break her.

And so, in the prison's depths, Zhyrel’Vaen took his first breath as he began to remember the lie of his own name, shedding the form of the Thorn Prince, and reforging himself from the cold whispers of the forgotten gods. He emerged from the broken ring, no longer the being she had cast aside—but an echo of something far worse. He was the Hollow Thorn, forsaken and hungry, clad in the remains of his former self.

Zhyrel’Vaen stood before the ruins of Xael’Tharoth’s shattered temple—a god-corpse scattered in fractured mirrors— and looked upon himself.

“I have no face. I have no name. But you… You will give me both, Xytrinah.”

Chapter XVI — The Bloom Wears Her Face

Xytrinah stood at the summit of her star-choked empire, her vision a burning storm. She could feel it—the rupture, the unnatural silence of the ring no longer pulsing against her skin.

The Ring of Blooming Scream was gone.

She had been defiled—though she didn’t yet understand how. Her heart thudded, her thoughts fragmented, as she pulled the void into her chest to steady herself. Yet something hung heavy in the air, like a shadow that should not exist.

Zhyrel’Vaen’s plan was beautifully insidious. He wore the face of every dead god. The very mirror-shards that had imprisoned him reflected only an imperfect image, a cursed **mosaic of the names he wore. But his ultimate deception, his greatest mockery of fate, was that he wore the face of Xytrinah’s first and only love.

He was The Mirror, but he was not her. Yet he mimicked her words, her touch, her commands, knowing full well that he would tear her apart from within, piece by piece.

Zhyrel’Vaen’s Strategy of Seduction: The Ultimate Possession
Zhyrel’Vaen had no intention of playing the role of the loving suitor. He had no interest in winning her through soft words or seduction. He sought only the most depraved of possessions.

To him, **Xytrinah was not a queen to be desired, but a prisoner to be consumed. Her purity, her untouched beauty, her immaculate sovereignty—he would tear it all asunder with the gift of madness, and she would welcome him into her soul.

Zhyrel’Vaen had learned to mimic. He had learned to reflect. His face, now wearing the face of her desire, could pierce her with longing, and to see her recoil from him would be a victory beyond any other.

Chapter XVII – The Cradle of Reflected Hunger

He had come to her, offering her “protection.”

Zhyrel’Vaen entered her private chambers, the doors creaking with the sounds of the approaching Void, his form shifting, warping, until only a ghost remained—a reflection of the man she once loved—carrying his bitter smile, his eyes gleaming with madness.

Xytrinah—for the first time in her existence—felt a shudder of doubt.

For in front of her stood a man who claimed to be none other than her heart’s deepest desire, the very thing she had once been promised in her youth.

And he had no name.

Chapter XVIII — The Garden of Hollow Beginnings

As the days passed, Zhyrel’Vaen’s influence over her weakened her will. He whispered in her dreams, a voice like a lover’s breath.

“I will be the dawn to your night, the thirst beneath your skin—no more will you roam the void alone.”

She did not recognize the whisper, for his voice was both new and familiar—and each time he spoke, she could feel herself recoil and yet yearn. Her voidic magics could not protect her from herself, nor could the universe hold her back from this foreign hunger.

Chapter XIX – Betrayal of the Silent Crown

The hour would come when Zhyrel’Vaen would reveal his true form, and Xytrinah’s denial would be crushed under the weight of a thousand years. He would take her as his, for there was no force in the cosmos that could destroy him.

And when the stars would fall, their blood would carve the path to Xytrinah’s throne—but at what cost?

In the final moments, Zhyrel’Vaen would come to her not as the lover she once knew, but as the monster in her deepest fears. The Thorn Prince would possess her and devour her soul, forever binding her to him in the most twisted of voidic unions.

For in his hunger, he did not seek to love her—but to claim her as the eternal prize of reflection, one that no god could ever destroy.

And she, Xytrinah Za’alcthaeeha, might fall for him, or she might shatter his mind entirely—the final battle for her heart an epic war that only time, the darkest corners of the void, would ever know.

Would she recognize the truth, or would the nightmare feast on her desires until they too were erased?