The Last God Comic Novels & Stories

“I have to. This storm can’t continue forever. Once there is a break in the weather, I am leaving with my men and ending this.” It shouldn’t have come to this. The diamond being returned to the temple should have prevented a war like this from coming to fruition. But KiloKilo doesn’t bend to the Goddess’s rules. No, the man waging war on Maatua has skirted those Goddess-defined boundaries at every turn. Alatar the Last. That is this bastard's name. The last of his kind, we’ve been told, and according to his own description of himself, the last thing anyone of us will see before he burns Maatua down to embers.

“Telling the truth. Just because you don’t like it. Doesn’t mean that it’s a lie. Grow up.” I sniffled. “You can’t talk to me like that.” “Truthfully?” He said. “It must be comforting to know that you’re about to descend into a lifetime of lies.” My heart went cold. “W-What do you mean?” “The Goddess has forsaken this world,” he said softly. “Cillian was given the same mission we were, and now that the last pieces of the mission are completed, we’re done in this world.” His lips twitched. “Though I suspect that his mission was more tailored to you as an issue.”

"It was someone who loved you, Elara. Someone the world forgot so we could live." The Last-Stand Valor had won the day, but at the cost of the family’s foundation. The sky was still cracked, and the Exterminator Fleet was still out there, but the Internal-Invasion had failed. The Haven was quiet, save for the sound of the waterfall and the soft, grieving hum of an Anchor who had lost a part of her soul she couldn't even name.

Jameson off before he could finish. Mr. Hall was quiet for a long time, then finally sighed and patted my shoulder. "You're grown now. It's good for you to see more of the world." As I left the office and walked away, I could still hear Mr. Jameson muttering, "It's over just like that?" Mr. Hall sounded annoyed. "Keep your voice down! Do you want to announce it to the whole world?" Samson didn't come looking for me for the rest of the day. But honestly, I didn't care about the watch he promised me anymore.

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty Eight Veyra’s POV I remained seated on my throne that had thorns on it. I didn’t intend to be quiet for more than a minute, I had to be because the deities had something to say to me. “I’ll do as you’ve said,” I replied to them inwardly. My guest had his eyes on me, he must have thought that I was weird for going mute in the middle of our conversation. It wasn’t my fault that my gods decided to speak to me at this time.

The love tucked between the lines was like honey, but it was also torturous, like poison. It had him sobbing one moment, then smiling through tears the next. Suddenly gloomy, suddenly joyful. Those two extremes kept surging through him, and the heart that had gone numb from despair began to burn again. He wondered if this was the last light before everything went dark, or the lighting of the fire that would bring back light? Nelson did not know what kind of ending waited ahead. All he could do was pray. He prayed for the secret thoughts that nineteen-year-old Sinead had recorded in her own script to be the means of his escape from the wreckage.

Despite the horrible stench, the place was cool yet the perspiration on his body seemed to increase. “I’ve seen and dealt with your type many times, now you must be dealt with.” She walked atop the neatly lined corpses towards the Pastor. Pastor Alozie knew he’ll need a good detergent to wash his pyjamas, whenever he got back to the real world. The goddess stopped abruptly and began to stroke her jet black hair. “You’ve caused enough damage dear Pastor…I’ll deal with you before Saret and the others…” Pastor Alozie only sighed while a flying demon with pointed ears flew between him and the goddess with a loud cackle.

“Monsters are born from fear. Gods are born from belief. But some things existed long before either of them.” 🌌 The Last Door continued opening. Slowly. Silently. Inevitably. 🚪⚡ The golden eyes beyond the darkness remained fixed upon reality. Watching. Waiting. Smiling. 😨 For the first time in existence… Nobody knew what to do. Not Orion. Not Lyra. Not Azrael. Not even the Father. 💀

Isra was holding the heavy leather-bound ledger, already outlining the chapters of a world that was no longer confined to a single continent. And Elias stood at the edge of the dock, his silver band glowing with a steady, infinite pulse, anchoring a grid that was now growing larger than the borders of our own earth. I was sixty-six years old. I had run through the Thornback woods with bare, bleeding feet. I had knelt in the great hall to stop an execution. I had carried the screams of the dying, and I had thrown fire onto the beaches. My story was over. The violent, beautiful, terrifying era of the Chosen had finally, truly reached its conclusion.

He was fighting to break him. To break everything. The Warlord’s body burst like a star going supernova, blood boiling into light, bone into fire, soul into something vast and hungry and endless. And when the glare cleared— When the smoke curled away— What stood where he fell wasn’t a man anymore. It was a god. A god made of ash and teeth and ruin, its smile a horizon of knives, its shadow swallowing the world whole. And Kael— Kael was still on his knees, head bowed, black fire flickering like dying embers as the god laughed and laughed and laughed—