Ascension of the Devouring Flame I'm the son of Ego and Abeloth

Rain lashed against the cracked pavement of a forgotten city street, its rhythm drowning out the quiet hum of civilisation in the distance. He walked alone, his hood pulled low, the storm soaking him to the bone. It wasn't unusual for him to find solace in solitude; in fact, it was his constant companion.

Books were his truest friends. Not people, not family, not lovers—just stories. Endless tales of gods and mortals, battles waged for power, and heroes who rose against insurmountable odds. He craved them, devoured them with a hunger that life itself never seemed to satisfy. His tiny flat was a shrine to fiction: shelves buckling under the weight of novels, graphic novels, and encyclopaedias of worlds far more fascinating than his own.

It was no surprise, then, that his mind wandered as he crossed the empty street that night. He was imagining himself as something more, someone more. A warrior like Thor, a tactician like Batman, a godlike being like Ego himself. The fantasies consumed him, and for a moment, he lost all awareness of the world around him.

The truck appeared out of nowhere. The screech of tyres was deafening, but not as much as the blinding pain that followed. The impact sent him tumbling through the air, his body broken before it even hit the ground. The world blurred, and darkness swallowed him whole.

When he opened his eyes, there was no white light, no ethereal gate to welcome him to the afterlife. Instead, he floated in an endless void, surrounded by shifting colours and shapes that defied comprehension. Voices whispered all around him, words slipping through his grasp like water through his fingers.

"You are nothing," one voice sneered, sharp and cruel.

"You are everything," another said, soft and melodic.

"You will be ours," a third whispered, and this one sent a shiver through his very soul.

Then, like a blade piercing his chest, reality returned—or, at least, something resembling it. He wasn't himself anymore. He could feel his existence stretching, growing, becoming something vast and incomprehensible. He wasn't bound by flesh and blood. He wasn't human.

"I am... what?" he tried to say, but the words didn't form. Instead, he felt his consciousness expanding, his awareness stretching across light-years. He could feel the pulse of molten cores, the crawl of tectonic plates, the breath of an atmosphere that wasn't his.

"You are alive," a deep, resonant voice answered. It came from everywhere and nowhere, filling him with both comfort and terror. "And you are mine."

From the shifting void stepped a being of immense presence, his form both humanoid and celestial. Ego, the Living Planet. His features were sharp, proud, and radiated an air of superiority. "My child," he said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You're finally awake."

Before he could respond, another figure emerged, her presence so overpowering that it threatened to drown his thoughts. Abeloth, the Bringer of Chaos, the Mother of Madness. Her form was ever-changing, shifting between beauty and horror, a grotesque tapestry of contradictions. She regarded him with a mixture of love and hunger, her smile both inviting and predatory.

"He is ours," Abeloth purred, her voice like silk laced with venom. "Born of my chaos and your ambition. He will be... perfection."

Ego's gaze hardened. "He will be what I decide."

Caught between these two titanic beings, he could do nothing but absorb their words. He wasn't a person anymore. He wasn't even a soul in the traditional sense. He was their creation, their experiment, their child.

Over time, he began to understand what he was—or at least, what he had become. His consciousness was tied to something vast, something alive. He was a celestial being, a fragment of Ego's essence infused with Abeloth's madness. But he wasn't just their offspring. He was something... more.

As he grappled with this new reality, the void around him began to change. A cold, oppressive darkness consumed the light, and from it stepped another figure. Cloaked in shadow, his presence was suffocating, a void that devoured everything it touched.

Darth Nihilus.

The Sith Lord spoke no words, yet his intentions were clear. With a single gesture, the darkness consumed the boy, pulling him into Nihilus' fold. Ego and Abeloth's protests were drowned out as the void solidified around him.

"You are mine now," Nihilus' voice echoed in his mind, though his lips never moved. "I will shape you. I will teach you what it means to consume."

And so began his second life.

Nihilus was not a kind father. He was a tyrant, a force of nature that demanded obedience. Under his tutelage, the boy—now called Kael—learned the ways of the Dark Side. He was taught to harness his celestial powers, to wield them as weapons against his enemies. Nihilus showed no mercy, no compassion, but he offered Kael something no one else had: purpose.

Kael's training was brutal. He was made to fight endlessly, pitted against Sith acolytes and monstrous creatures alike. His celestial heritage gave him an edge, but Nihilus pushed him further, forcing him to tap into the chaos of his mother's bloodline. Each victory brought a surge of power, each defeat a lesson in pain.

"You crave battle," Nihilus told him one day after he had decimated an entire battalion of Sith soldiers during a training exercise. "You crave power. That is your nature."

Kael didn't deny it. The more he fought, the more he consumed, the more he realised Nihilus was right. There was a thrill in combat, a satisfaction in seeing his enemies crushed beneath his might. He wasn't content to simply exist; he wanted to dominate.

As the years passed, Kael's reputation grew. He became known as the Starborn Warlord, a being of immense power and insatiable hunger. He didn't just fight his enemies—he annihilated them, consuming their strength and adding it to his own.

But even as he carved a path of destruction across the galaxy, a part of him remained tethered to the dreams of his past life. He remembered the stories he had once loved, the heroes and villains who had inspired him. He wasn't content to be a pawn in someone else's game. He wanted to write his own story, to become a legend in his own right.

And so, Kael set his sights on the multiverse itself. He would challenge gods, conquer worlds, and bend reality to his will. This was his purpose, his destiny. He was no longer a man, no longer just the child of Ego and Abeloth.

He was chaos incarnate, and the multiverse would tremble before him.