You have reached the stars. All across is space, infinite, undefined. Distant galaxies wave at you, or spin into a spiral, you can't tell. Before getting another good look, you enter the gates of death, all bets are off now.

The sheer size of the two golden gates were bigger than a Titan. From outer space, you go into a dark room. Without warning your eyes close on reflex, the light blinding you. The first thing you see is a floor made out of purple marble, shadows of the four Archivists painted as a mural, all across, the walls are made out of white marbles, depicting the Archivists collecting various creatures. At the end of the room, four thrones, for four kings.

The Propheter stares at you with dead yellow eyes like they're devoid of life, a wicked, creepy smirk playing across his features as he puts a foot atop another, his hand holding his head.

The Observer pays no attention to it, playing with the little jupiter toy attached to his cap, just like a cat would do to its toys.

The Scrivener stares deep, his blue eyes never leaving you. It was unsettling to say the least, because he was writing on a scroll at the same time. From this distance, you couldn't tell. His gaze shifting rapidly between the written words on his paper and your distant figure across the room.

The Hunter stood in the middle, the red star on his cap waving, but there was no wind. It was outer-space, so gravity could be a little wonky. Red eyes, red bowtie. A murderous gentleman in disguise. These were the four gods that The Collector warned you about. Each one of them with an unique combat ability.

The Hunter, as the oldest one, speaks up for all of them. "So... the little blade of flesh dares pierce the throne of stars. You bleed. You breathe. You end. And yet, you step into the silence between worlds to murder gods. Tell me, mortal- do you bring courage... or merely a grave too small?"