The perfect king 3

In a land untouched by time, where lightning forked silently across cloudless skies, the Perfect King walked alone. But his shadow was never truly alone.
It followed him. Not on the ground, but in his mind.
He had once glimpsed it.The Future.
He did not seek it. It came to him the night he forged his crown from the steel of fallen stars and silence of the last breath he took as a mortal.
The sight wasn’t given—it was forced.
That night, he stood in a wasteland that had not yet come to pass.
Ash fell from a sky that bled purple. Mountains had shattered like glass. Oceans boiled like rage denied too long.
And in the center of it all…
Two figures.
The first, The Lover from Hell, was kneeling—Not in defeat, but in mourning.All around him, corpses of angels and demons alike formed a river of blood.His blade wasn’t stained—it wept.And the skies themselves refused to thunder out of respect.
The King tried to step forward, but his feet burned.His voice failed.His heart ached.
For this was not war.This was grief as a god, wearing armor shaped like man.
Then came laughter.Not from joy. Not from madness.From certainty.
From the other side of the battlefield danced Jack of No Trade.His bells rang like war drums.
He didn’t walk—he mocked gravity.
Reality distorted around him, his silhouette flickering like a candle behind a warped mirror.
His smile?Carved into the world like a scar.
And then… they both turned toward him.
And that was when the Perfect King fell to his knees.
He did not kneel in reverence.He did not kneel from pain.He knelt because the truth crushed him.
No matter how strong he became…No matter how fast…No matter how many weapons he held or how many futures he pierced—
He would lose.Not from weakness.But because some monsters are not meant to be conquered.They are meant to be remembered.
The vision ended. But the scars remained.
Ever since that day, lightning clung to him like a warning.
He didn’t fear them out of cowardice.He feared them because he knew—
“If I am the storm… they are the silence after

 everything. 

he writes something in the dirt beside a quiet stream,

"If I fight them, it is not I who will die first…It is hope."