Pawn

"What the hell happened.." Xander's eyes snapped open, startled by a blinding, ethereal light that enveloped his senses.

His hand instinctively reached for a weapon that was no longer strapped to his side. Confusion clouded his mind as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.

"Ah, you're awake already. Just a moment, I'm still preparing," a melodious voice resonated from the brilliance, belonging to a deity.

Struggling to his feet, Xander squinted against the radiance until the light began to wane, revealing the figure before him. A rush of recognition coursed through him.

"Wait... I know you," he murmured, a mix of disbelief and realization etched across his features as he closed the distance between them.

"Of course you do, Xander," the goddess replied with a serene smile.

"The Divine War is over. My clan has no quarrel with yours," Xander retorted sharply, half-expecting a confrontation from the deity.

The goddess chuckled lightly. "What are you speaking of, Xander? Have you forgotten? You're no longer among the living."

"What nonsense!" Xander's voice rose with indignation. "I am Xander Nightborn, leader of the Demon clan. The Destroyer of the Wildwood Guardians! I fought for a century in the Divine War," he boasted, each word heavy with pride.

The goddess listened patiently until Xander's fervent recounting of his achievements ceased, his breath labored from the intensity of his own recollection.

"Are you quite finished?" the goddess inquired gently.

Caught off guard by her composed demeanor, Xander struggled to regain his breath. Gradually, the absurdity of his situation dawned upon him, and he fell silent, sheepishly collecting his thoughts.

The goddess's smile widened, her eyes glowing with an otherworldly luminescence. Stepping closer, she extended a slender finger that brushed against Xander's forehead. In an instant, a torrent of memories flooded his consciousness, transporting him back to a defining moment.

"Sire, a band of Stormcrest Clan assailants approaches our gates. How shall we fend them off?" Dreadmoor, one of Xander's loyal servants, knelt before the imposing figure seated upon a throne.

The throne itself was a grotesque monument of obsidian, adorned with intricate carvings of tormented souls writhing in eternal agony, the armrests fashioned in the likeness of twisted serpents coiling around each other.

"Finally," Xander's laughter echoed within the cavernous hall, resonating with an air of ominous delight. Rising from his throne, he descended its dreadful steps, a shroud of darkness trailing his every movement. As he passed Dreadmoor, he summoned forth his weapon with a commanding gesture.

A sudden gust of wind heralded her arrival—Lilith, the keeper of the Blackrose, Xander's sole weapon throughout his ascension to the mantle of Demon Lord. She knelt, holding the sword, her demeanor a blend of reverence and apprehension.

"Lilith, I did not summon you," Xander remarked, fixing his gaze upon the kneeling figure.

Stammering, Lilith struggled to explain, "I-I was nearby, cleaning your weapon, sire."

Xander reached out to claim his sword, but before his fingers could grasp it, Dreadmoor interjected, his voice laden with a fierce determination. "But, sire, I alone can rid us of this nuisance," he demanded from his bowed position near the throne.

Turning to respond to Dreadmoor, Xander's attention wavered, causing an inadvertent misstep. He stumbled upon the jagged edges of the throne's steps, the weight of his own body betraying him. In a dreadful sequence, Lilith, still clutching the sword, instinctively moved to prevent his fall.

The world spun in chaotic disarray as the Blackrose, guided by fate's cruel hand, found an unintended mark. Xander, in a twisted twist of fate, met his end at the hands of the one closest to his side.

As the flashback dissolved, leaving Xander reeling in the sudden clarity of his demise, the goddess's laughter danced around him, resonating with bewildering amusement.

The goddess's laughter ebbed away into a silken hush, her radiant countenance shifting to a demeanor of profound solemnity. "Shall we return to the matter at hand?" Her posture straightened, fingers interlaced in a gesture akin to prayer, an air of divine authority enveloping her.

"Ehem," a soft, melodious clearing of her throat preceded her words. "As mortals, our destinies intertwine with the ebb and flow of existence. With the conclusion of one life, we merge back into the eternal current." A knowing smile played upon her lips, a glint of mischief glimmering in her eyes.

"However," she continued, each syllable weighted with an ominous resonance, "for one of your stature, Xander, the path ahead diverges into two choices." Her voice carried a subtle echo, as if the very fabric of reality strained to listen.

"You may choose to embark on a path of redemption in your next life, striving toward deeds of virtue and benevolence." Her gaze bore into Xander, holding the weight of expectations and consequences. "Or..." The word hung in the air, pregnant with unfathomable implications. "You could surrender to the relentless flow, becoming one with the eternal cycle, forsaking any chance of reclamation or transcendence."

The wicked smile that danced upon her features painted a chilling contrast to the gravity of her words, hinting at a cosmic game she seemed to relish playing.

The goddess, her gaze penetrating, awaited Xander's response with an air of expectation, though a subtle hint of anticipation danced in her eyes. She seemed privy to his impending choice, yet Xander, still reeling from the revelation of his demise, hesitated.

Shaken by the sudden flood of memories, his hand trembled as he extended it, a gesture halting the goddess's expectations. "I... I need time," he managed to articulate, his voice carrying a tremor of disbelief and uncertainty.

The weight of his untimely end, the unexpected truth of his demise, lingered heavily upon him. The memory, once obscured, now etched vividly in his consciousness, left him grappling with the stark reality of his fate.

The goddess's expectant posture remained unchanged, though a flicker of annoyance crossed her countenance. Yet, she seemed to savor the moment, relishing in the turmoil of the immortal's hesitation.