[: 3rd POV :]

Even the four Apostles, Minerva, Vaelgor, Seraphis, and Azarkon, could not hide the trembling in their eyes.

Their chests rose and fell sharply as they gulped down the weight of the moment. The silence that followed Daniel’s transformation was suffocating.

That presence, that overwhelming, untamed existence, shouldn’t have belonged to a mortal.

The aura Daniel emitted wasn’t simply divine; it was something older, deeper, and far more terrifying.

It was the kind of power that made reality hesitate to breathe.

It was an aura that mirrored those of the Sovereigns, the Celestials, and Gods that exists.

Minerva’s divine lips trembled.

"N-no... this shouldn’t be possible... The Spark of Overrule shouldn’t even be trembling like this," she muttered in disbelief, watching as the artefact in her hand quaked like a terrified animal.

She could feel it.

Every particle of Daniel’s energy rejected her existence.

It wasn’t simply stronger; it was absolute.

Vaelgor’s molten veins pulsed erratically, his flames sputtering and dimming like candles before a storm.

"Impossible...that kind of power would’ve shattered this world already," he said, his molten eyes flicking between the glowing runes and Daniel’s ethereal form.

"Then how, how can he still stand without the world collapsing?"

Seraphis clutched her chest, feeling her divine core tremble uncontrollably.

"He’s not being supported by divinity... nor by any cosmic link," she whispered.

"It’s as if the world itself is sustaining him..."

That realisation sent shivers through her.

The world that should’ve resisted him was instead submitting to him.

And then, as the silence stretched, Azarkon snapped.

He slammed his claws into the cracked marble beneath his feet, shattering it into dust.

His scaled wings flared wide, sparks of crimson lightning arcing across his form.

His voice roared with disbelief and fury.

"This is ridiculous!" Azarkon bellowed, his voice shaking the heavens.

"What kind of joke is this!?"

His rage was almost tangible.

"A mortal... from a barren, insignificant world possesses such power!?"

He snarled, his sharp teeth flashing under the dying light.

"WHAT KIND OF UNIVERSAL JOKE IS THIS!?"

Every word was venom, fueled by disbelief, jealousy, and despair.

He glared at Daniel with hatred that bordered on madness.

"I’ve fought through countless worlds! I’ve devoured civilisations, shattered realms, sacrificed everything I had and devoted my entire existence to Him!’’

’’To the Sovereign of Apocalypse! And yet..."

His voice cracked, breaking between fury and helplessness.

"Yet this... this thing stands above us!?"

The crimson energy around Azarkon exploded violently, the air hissing from the force, but it dispersed instantly, snuffed out by the invisible pressure Daniel emitted.

Daniel, standing amidst the trembling world, said nothing.

In his eyes, the furious Apostle wasn’t considered his enemy anymore.

They were nothing to him.

"Oh, this is not a joke," Daniel said, a slow, calculating smirk curling on his lips.

The faint glimmer of amusement in his silvery eyes ignited a spark of pure rage in Azarkon.

His claws clenched so tightly that the stone beneath him cracked, the echoes vibrating through the ruins of the Colosseum.

"You dare!" Azarkon growled, his voice a thunderclap that shook even the heavens, but before he could finish, he let out a guttural roar.

His body began to convulse, black and molten energy erupting from his scales like rivers of fire and night.

The Apostles around him tensed, but even they could sense the sheer magnitude of what was about to unfold.

Azarkon was pushing beyond every limit, every boundary imposed by the world.

He muttered a name only he could give, a title and accumulation of his powers that had been whispered across destroyed worlds.

[: Destroyer of Worlds :]

The air itself recoiled.

The sky cracked in protest as if the heavens of the world themselves refused to witness such hubris, but Azarkon paid no heed.

His form began to distort, muscles and bones elongating, scales shifting into jagged obsidian plates streaked with molten veins.

With a violent surge, his body expanded, tall, wide, massive.

The ground quaked, stone splintered, and in moments, Azarkon had become a colossal dragon, the size of a city.

Every movement sent shockwaves that shattered the Colosseum and obliterated the surrounding districts.

The air hissed with heat and darkness, carrying the scent of ash, ruin, and death.

He let out a roar that rolled across the continent, a sound that tore through mountains, crumbled cities, and reduced millions of lives to screaming echoes.

"Hmpf!"

Azarkon’s voice was a rumble that shook the hearts of the few still watching from a distance.

"In the end... you’re still nothing if you can’t save your people!"

His jagged teeth glimmered, and black fire licked his maw as he turned his massive head toward Daniel.

"I guess..." he said, wings unfurling like twin storms, "it’s been a long time since we destroyed worlds and our senses...have grown dull."

Even in the face of such devastation, Daniel’s smirk did not falter.

His silver eyes glinted with cold amusement, the calmness of Absolute Ascension radiating from him.

"Azarkon is right...we were worried for nothing."

Vaelgor said, cracking his neck with a slow, deliberate motion.

His veins glowed brighter as a heatwave radiated from his body, warping the air like a living furnace.

The ground beneath him began to smoulder and crack.

With a guttural chant, he summoned the power that had been honed over millennia, the ultimate embodiment of his being.

[: Incarnation of Flame :]

As the words left his lips, Vaelgor’s body erupted in a conflagration of unimaginable heat.

Flames licked every edge of his form, coalescing into a towering figure rivalling Azarkon in size, his entire body a living inferno that radiated an oppressive aura of destruction.

His scales shimmered with molten gold and crimson, shifting and folding like rivers of fire alive with intent.

Where he stepped, the ground ignited.

Entire districts succumbed to fire, clouds of ash swallowing the horizon.

From his palms and wings, Vaelgor summoned blazing spheres, miniature suns, that rained down upon the cities.

Mountains smoked. Rivers boiled.

The screams of millions echoed, carried by the relentless wind of incineration.

Even from afar, the devastation was impossible to ignore.

The streets of Lunaria were ablaze, the capital itself trembling under the oppressive weight of Vaelgor’s flames.

Seraphis hovered above the carnage, her veil billowing like dark silk.

A cruel smile curved her lips as she gazed at Daniel, her eyes narrowing.

"In the end," she whispered, her voice carrying the venom of contempt and superiority, "a mortal is still a mortal."

She raised her arms, her own power unfurling like a living storm.

[: Omen of Death :]

Seraphis, the Apostle of decay and darkness, embodied the inevitability of death itself.

Unlike her fellow Apostles, she did not tower into a colossal form.

Instead, her body became the essence of mortality and oblivion, a perfect fusion of shadow and void.

Black energy pulsed along her form like veins of night, her presence alone chilling the very air around her.

Every law she mastered, Darkness, Death, Oblivion, converged within her, and combined with the divine power granted by her apostolic status, she had become the ruin of life itself.

Hovering above the ruins of the Colosseum, Seraphis’s eyes glowed with a cold, unyielding hunger.

Her arms extended, and streams of black energy shot forth, arcing toward the surrounding cities like predatory tendrils.

Each strike unleashed a wave of death that tore through the populace, extinguishing countless lives in an instant.

Those who died did not remain at rest.

Their bodies rose as undead, twisted extensions of Seraphis’s will, and immediately attacked the living, creating a horrifying cycle of death and undeath that spread like a plague.

Cities burned not just with flame, but with despair and the cries of the newly risen dead.

From above, the capital and its outskirts were engulfed in this nightmarish tableau.

Minerva, observing the destruction with detached authority, spoke with a voice that carried both elegance and divine menace.

"It’s impressive... a mortal who wields such power. Truly remarkable."

Her gaze swept over Daniel, icy and calculating.

"But that is all there is to it," she continued, her tone slicing through the chaos like a blade.

"Every action, every sacrifice... everything shall serve our Lord. And when all is done," she raised her arms, energy coiling around her like a living halo, "this world will end. Nothing will remain."

[: Reign of Apocalypse :]

Minerva, of all the Apostles, held the highest rank.

Her power, directly blessed by the Sovereign of Apocalypse, was unmatched.

She was the embodiment of the Apocalypse itself, a living testament to destruction refined over countless millennia.

Centuries of accumulation, conquest, and mastery of death and destruction had culminated in her being a force that no mortal, and few divine entities, could ever challenge.

Suddenly, a black halo of immense, oppressive energy appeared above her head.

From it, a pair of massive wings unfolded, each feather a shard of night, pulsating with the aura of an unstoppable apocalypse.

Shadows clung to her form, coiling like serpents, and from the void, black armour materialised, covering her body in plates etched with sigils older than kingdoms.

In her hand, a colossal sword of apocalypse manifested, its edge whispering promises of annihilation.

Without hesitation, she rose into the sky, wings slicing through the wind like blades.

Her presence alone made the air thrum with dread.

She swung her sword, and the earth itself responded.

Oceans ripped apart, mountains shattered into jagged fragments, and lands, entire continents—splintered like brittle crystal under her might.

The sound was not just of destruction, but of reality itself, tearing apart.

Below, the other Apostles revelled in the chaos.

Azarkon’s darkness crushed cities, Vaelgor’s flames incinerated armies, and Seraphis spread death in an unending tide.

The screams of countless innocents echoed across the lands, punctuated by the roar of collapsing mountains and shattering seas.

Even the world’s rulers, mages, generals, and monarchs stood powerless, their defences utterly futile against the torrent of apocalypse unleashed.

The world’s Will, wounded by the Spark of Overrule, wailed in despair, its cries absorbed by the unrelenting tide of destruction.

Everywhere, terror and despair blanketed the planet.

Yet, amidst this chaos, the Apostles no longer regarded Daniel with caution.

The memory of his aura, the Absolute Ascension, seemed irrelevant to them now.

They believed the mortal before them was no longer a threat.

His presence had been a curiosity, a spark perhaps, but against the might of four Apostles united in devastation, they assumed victory was guaranteed.

The air itself vibrated with arrogance and certainty, but none of them noticed the faintest ripple of the void lurking beneath, silently observing, waiting for the moment when the Absolute Being would act.