[: 3rd POV :]

The sea still raged from the Dwarf King's ascension, fire and thunder rolling across the horizon.

But then, a silence spread—an expectant hush that made the heavens themselves tremble.

It was her turn.

Sylthara—the Dragon Empress.

She spread her wings slowly, each movement shaking the atmosphere, as though the skies themselves feared to resist her.

Her eyes gleamed with a brilliance that reduced even immortals to insects.

Then, her power surged.

[: Class: Celestial Dragon - Ruler of Skies :]

The world bent beneath her aura.

Celestial constellations lit up behind her form, weaving into the shape of an endless dragon that coiled across the heavens.

Stars flickered like embers in her wake, as though even the cosmos bowed to her supremacy.

Her trait ignited, a light too divine to deny.

[: Trait: Divine Brilliance – Radiance of Supremacy :]

A corona of sacred flame engulfed her, a brilliance so pure that shadows disintegrated under its touch.

This was not mere light but sovereignty itself, the authority to command obeisance from all creation.

Beasts, men, demons, even gods—their wills trembled before her divine radiance.

Then, the roar of her bloodline echoed.

[: Bloodline: Heir of Tiamat's Flame – Legacy of True Dragon :]

Five colossal dragon heads of pure flame manifested in the skies behind her, each burning with primordial power.

Red fire, blue lightning, black void, golden sun, and emerald life—all five elements intertwined into a single infernal majesty.

Her veins burned with Tiamat's inheritance, the eternal dragon's wrath incarnate.

Her body erupted in divine metamorphosis.

[: Physique: Immortal Wyrm Body – Scales of the Infernal Apex :]

Her form expanded endlessly, scales forged of divine gold and shimmering emerald plating her titanic body.

Each scale pulsed with the heat of a newborn sun, each claw glistened with the sharpness to rend reality itself.

Her wings unfurled, stretching across continents, each beat stirring tempests and bending the firmament.

Then her innate power awoke, shaking the heavens.

[: Innate: Bahamut's Wrath – Cataclysm of the Dragon God :]

Her roar tore across the world.

The sound alone shattered mountains, boiled oceans, and silenced the stars.

Her breath burned with Bahamut's vengeance, a conflagration not meant for mortals but for entire worlds.

With a single exhale, she could reduce a planet to ash, her wrath the judgment of the Dragon God himself.

Finally, the sceptre materialised.

[: Soul Weapon: Draconic Sceptre of the Worldfire – Flame of End :]

The weapon descended like a divine pillar, a staff of molten crystal crowned by a blazing orb of Worldfire—a flame that burned not matter, not spirit, but existence itself.

With each gesture, it ignited creation, turning law, fate, and time to cinders.

When her final form solidified, the heavens dimmed.

Sylthara no longer resembled a mere empress.

She had become the Supreme Dragon, her wings eclipsing the sun, her aura consuming heaven and earth.

She was the summit of all bloodlines, the end of all hierarchies.

Those who looked upon her saw only one truth.

She was the ruler of rulers, the apex sovereign who sat above all.

The world had already quaked beneath the ascensions of the Demon King, the Spirit Empress, the Beast King, the Dwarf King, and the Dragon Empress.

Their combined presences made even the heavens weep and the seas kneel.

But then—Melira stepped forward.

The air froze.

The ground beneath her feet fractured into dust.

Even the divine brilliance of Sylthara dimmed, as though existence itself feared what was about to awaken.

Her voice, calm yet sharp as a blade cutting through the void, broke the silence:

"My turn."

Her aura flared, and with it came the whisper of the end.

[: Class: Sovereign of Cataclysm – The Final Hour :]

The title alone shook the ley lines of the world.

Darkness and light collapsed inward, forming a storm of annihilation that orbited her like dying stars.

The ground warped, skies shattered, and even the void screamed as the essence of Cataclysm wrapped around her.

She wasn't simply a ruler anymore—she was the inevitability of endings.

[: Trait: Absolute Ruin – Crown of Unmaking :]

An aura of dissolution burst outward, pure ruin flowing like a tidal wave.

Every law of reality—the pull of gravity, the flow of time, the weave of mana—cracked and fractured near her presence.

Mountains dissolved into dust, oceans boiled away into void mist, and even the concept of order struggled to survive against her sheer existence.

Where she stood, the world unravelled.

[: Bloodline: Doom of Eternal – Genesis of Destruction :]

The blood within her boiled, igniting in crimson-black fire that devoured everything it touched.

A colossal phantom loomed behind her, a figure of endless ruin crowned by a thousand broken worlds.

Its eyes were suns collapsing, its breath the end of civilisations.

This was the Eternal Doom, a bloodline born not from nature, divinity, or void, but from the principle of inescapable destruction.

Her veins pulsed with extinction, her heart a drumbeat of apocalypse.

[: Physique: Eternal Cataclysm Body – Vessel of Nothingness :]

Her body warped into something terrible and divine, a form plated in fractured armour of obsidian and molten crimson, glowing with cracks like a dying star.

Each step she took splintered reality, tearing seams in space that bled raw voidlight. She became the walking cataclysm, a body forged not to live, but to annihilate.

[: Innate: Planetbreaker – Ruination of the Spheres :]

At the invocation of her innate, her presence surged outward, encompassing the horizon. Worlds trembled across the cosmos.

The stars themselves seemed to shrink back as if aware of her gaze.

She lifted her hand, and with just the gesture, the air shattered into fragments of broken dimension.

This was no longer a strength for battle—this was the power to reduce planets into cinders with but a thought.

[: Soul Weapon: Sceptre of Endless Ruin – Last Dawn :]

The weapon descended into her grasp, blackened metal wreathed in crimson runes, a core orb glowing with endless apocalyptic flame.

The moment it appeared, cracks rippled across the horizon, as if the world rejected its very existence.

Each pulse of the Sceptre was a heartbeat of annihilation—one strike, and not even ashes would remain.

Her final form solidified.

Melira floated above the world, draped in apocalyptic radiance.

Her armour gleamed with molten fissures, her hair whipped like strands of voidfire, her eyes burned with the certainty of annihilation.

Every breath she exhaled erased fragments of reality, and every beat of her heart shook the barrier of the Forbidden Continent.

The rulers—monsters in their own right, wielders of unfathomable power—found themselves silent, humbled by the sheer inevitability that she embodied.

If Xerath was ruin, Sylthara supremacy, Thrain creation, Sylvene balance, and the Beast King's primal domination—then Melira was the End.

The world stood still.

The ocean, which once raged in rebellion, had calmed to an unnatural silence.

The winds froze in the skies, clouds parting as though afraid to stand in the path of what was about to unfold.

The very planet seemed to hold its breath.

For the first time since the First Generation, the Six Rulers had transformed fully—each embodying the pinnacle of their bloodlines, classes, and souls.

Their auras blazed like living suns, eclipsing even the heavens themselves.

And they were not wielding this power for conquest, nor dominion, nor vengeance.

They did it—for a boy.

A single boy who had carved his presence so deeply into their hearts, their debt, their pride, their love, that they would risk shattering the world to free him.

As one, they ascended into the sky, forming a circle high above the barrier of the Forbidden Continent.

Their combined presences warped reality, oceans bending upward as if to bow, the sky cracking into rivers of broken starlight.

Then, without hesitation, they prepared their strongest strikes—six attacks that no mortal tongue should ever dare to name.

The skies turned black, lightning and fire coiling into a storm that devoured the horizon.

Xerath raised his colossal hand, shadow tendrils clawing against the heavens.

His voice thundered like the scream of a dying star.

"Endbringer Burst!"

From his palm erupted a sphere of absolute ruin, a miniature apocalypse that dissolved all it touched.

Wreathed in golden-green armour of living nature, Caelira's wings unfurled like a blossoming cosmos.

With her Sylvan Heartblade raised high, she whispered with a sorrowful grace.

"Eternal Rest!"

The world answered her call—forests erupted from nothing, rivers of pure life-force poured from the skies, converging into a tidal wave of nature's rebirth, both creation and destruction.

In his golden form of myth and ancient beasts, Kaelgor howled—a roar that made all living creatures across the continents fall silent.

His claws burned with primal light as he declared.

"Rend of Ten Thousand Clans!"

An attack born of all beasts, it manifested as a titanic golden claw that could tear apart worlds and devour even divinity.

Crackling with divine flame and thunder, Mjolnir's Heirloom blazed in his grasp.

The hammer pulsed with both destruction and rebirth, a paradox only he could command.

Thrain's voice was a vow.

"Heavenbreaker!"

When his hammer fell, lightning chains spread across the horizon, flames surged like molten rivers, each strike carrying the power to both annihilate and remake creation.

Sylthara's draconic body coiled through the heavens, scales blazing with divine radiance, her sceptre glowing with worldfire.

Her roar shook the world as she cried.

"Tiamat's Wrath!"

A beam of condensed dragonfire, brilliant and merciless, cascaded downward, hot enough to melt even the concept of resistance.

Last of all, Melira rose, cloaked in the mantle of inevitable doom.

Her sceptre hummed with the death of worlds, her eyes burned with the promise of annihilation.

Reality itself cracked as she whispered:

"Dawn of End."

The words themselves shattered the silence of existence.

From her sceptre poured a torrent of crimson-black ruin, a force that consumed dimension, time, and law, converging upon the barrier.

Six powers.

Six endings.

Six rulers.

Each attack alone was enough to collapse continents, shatter planets, erase gods.

But together, they formed an orchestra of apocalypse.

The skies wept, oceans evaporated, and continents cracked as the combined devastation of the rulers converged into a single, blinding strike upon the barrier of the Forbidden Continent.

For an instant, the world ceased to exist.

Light, sound, time, all disappeared.

There was nothing but raw, unfiltered destruction, a silence that carried the weight of eternity.

The impact shook the world.

Other continents felt the tremor as if the end of days had come.

And when the light dimmed, their gazes snapped downward.

The barrier…

It trembled, cracked, splintered—like glass under too much weight.

For the first time, it showed signs of breaking.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.