They landed hard—too hard.
Lucio rolled into a crouch, boots skidding against a slick black floor that reflected no light. Beside him, Kuromi touched down with far more grace, one hand on her blade, eyes narrowing.
Before them stood a massive wall of white fire, stretching ceiling to floor, humming like it had swallowed the sound from everything else. No heat touched them. No smoke rose. But the flame pulsed like a heartbeat—steady, ancient, and watching.
Behind the fire, a throne waited in silhouette. Its jagged outline was carved from bone and obsidian, shifting slightly each time the flames rippled.
Then, something moved.
The ground darkened, and shadows began to crawl from the floor—figures with no features, no limbs, only shape and weight. They slithered forward and knelt in rows, silent worshipers bowing toward the throne.
Lucio's breath hitched. "What the hell is this?"
Kuromi stepped closer, eyes cold. "I think we're in the presence of something old. And very, very aware."
They spoke in whispers, but the room still heard them.
A sudden creak echoed behind them.
They turned.
The Smiling Man emerged from the darkness—not from a hallway, but out of the wall itself—as if peeling himself off a curtain only he could see.
He didn't walk so much as float a few inches off the ground, his translucent form jittering slightly like a flickering projection. He made no sound. His mouth didn't move.
But they heard him all the same.
"Welcome."
Lucio stiffened, hand hovering near his weapon. "You."
The Smiling Man twirled, arms out like a host greeting old friends. "Such intensity," he whispered. "You must be so tired of pretending."
His head tilted, too far to the side.
"Jalen's still alive, if you're wondering. Vexa too, though I can't guarantee they'll stay that way. The others... well, they're interesting. But you—you're the one my master has been waiting to bury… or crown."
Then he did something strange.
He floated forward…
And knelt before the fire.
The shadows bowed deeper.
The throne pulsed.
And the ground split open.
From the crack in the floor, black light surged upward like smoke caught in reverse. The fire around the throne parted just enough to reveal a pair of massive, armored boots rising from the depths—dragged upward not by gravity, but by will.
The figure emerged in full.
Not walked. Leapt.
Zeraphon landed on the throne like a predator descending into his grave. His armor pulsed with flickers of grey and violet, shaped like jagged bone fused with ancient obsidian. His long hair was braided back and burned white at the tips. His body seemed stitched together by both muscle and decay, as if death had worn many masks—and this was its final one.
When he sat—
Everything knelt lower.
Even the fire bent inward.
Zeraphon leaned forward on the throne, resting one elbow on his knee. His voice struck the air like a funeral bell wrapped in steel:
"What does it take to lead an army?"
Lucio's chest tightened.
Zeraphon didn't give him time to speak.
"What exactly is war, young god?"
Lucio's eyes flicked toward Kuromi instinctively—reflexively. She didn't move, but the air between them buzzed.
"…You've made a mistake," Lucio said carefully. "I'm not who you think I am."
Zeraphon didn't blink.
"You're exactly who I think you are."
Lucio's hands curled into fists.
He'd been careful. Silent. Even Jalen didn't know—
"Wrong again," came the oily murmur from nearby.
The Smiling Man was no longer kneeling.
He now stood to the left of the throne, arms behind his back, head turned upside down like a broken marionette.
"All gods can sense each other," he said, voice sweet and mocking. "Even Jalen knows. Has for some time. He just hasn't told you yet. Isn't that funny?"
Lucio stepped forward. "You're lying."
The Smiling Man shrugged. "Then hurry and answer my master's question. Or we'll peel the truth out of your friend instead."
His eyes slid to Kuromi.
Lucio tensed. "Don't you touch her."
Zeraphon raised a hand.
And everything stopped.
The fire.
The shadows.
Even the Smiling Man's twitching stilled.
"Answer," Zeraphon said again. His voice echoed now. Deeper. Like it wasn't coming from his throat—but from the bones of the earth.
Lucio's heart thundered.
He stared at the God of the Dead.
And finally—he spoke.
"…To lead an army," Lucio said, his voice hoarse, "you need more than strength. You need clarity. Control. Not just over the enemy, but over yourself."
Zeraphon said nothing.
Lucio kept going.
"War isn't rage. It's the silence before it. It's knowing when to strike, when to wait. Who to protect. Who to sacrifice."
His hands were shaking now. "It's making decisions no one else can live with. And living with them anyway."
The silence afterward felt like a verdict.
Zeraphon leaned back slowly in his throne.
Then—he laughed.
It wasn't loud.
It was dry.
Like dust escaping a sealed tomb.
"Wrong."
He stood, his towering figure framed by the now-raging white fire behind him.
"War isn't clarity. It's corruption. It's blood in your mouth and betrayal in your heart. It's the sound of your name being forgotten by the soldiers you buried with your orders."
The flames surged higher.
"It is not the silence before. It is the scream during."
Lucio took a step back, the heat beginning to scorch his skin.
The Smiling Man stepped closer to Kuromi now, eyes gleaming with glee. "He tried. That counts for something. Right?"
Zeraphon didn't answer.
He simply raised one hand—palm flat, fingers spread—and pointed it at Lucio.
The white fire turned black.
And then—
The beam hit.
Lucio didn't scream.
He convulsed.
His body snapped backward as if hit by a speeding train, knees slamming into the ground as the energy surged through him like molten iron through veins made of glass. His back arched unnaturally. Light and shadow coiled from his skin, flickering between fire and something colder—something emptier.
Kuromi stepped forward instinctively. "Lucio—!"
The Smiling Man blocked her path with a single gesture, not touching her, simply tilting his head as if watching an exhibit unravel.
Lucio clutched his chest, gasping—but he wasn't breathing air.
He was burning from the inside.
The glyph that Jalen gave him began to pulse red, then black, then disappeared entirely—replaced by a single set of dog tags now forming around his neck. A new symbol. A soldier's death note.
His very nature was being rewritten.
His eyes burst open—and for a moment, they weren't Lucio's.
They were war's.
This was violence being born.
Lucio's back straightened, and he rose slowly, fists clenched so tight his nails dug into his palms. His armor was lean, jagged, a hybrid of Everlock's blacksteel and ancient, corrupted divine plating. Red seams throbbed across his forearms and shoulders like old wounds forced back open.
His skin was marked by war now.
Not decorated.
Claimed.
His once-sharp eyes glowed a low, threatening crimson. His breathing slowed, but his chest rose with something else—hunger. Not for food. Not even for revenge.
But for action.
Kuromi stared at him.
"Lucio…?"
He turned toward her—slowly. Calculatingly. His expression blank.
Too blank.
Then he blinked, and the familiar flicker returned for half a second.
"...I'm fine," he said.
But the way he said it?
Made her feel like maybe he wasn't.
Zeraphon watched from the throne, unmoved, arms crossed.
"Now," he said, tone low and final, "let us see what war looks like—when it forgets what it used to be."
Lucio's breathing slowed.
Dog tags clinked softly against his chest, still glowing faintly from heat. They hadn't been there before. They hadn't existed.
They were just… there.
Forged by the transformation.
A symbol of what he now carried—and who he would have to bury.
He stood fully now. Taller. Heavier. Sharper in presence. The shadows still knelt. The white fire still burned black.
Zeraphon remained seated, eyes hollow. Watching.
Lucio stared at him. "You made your point."
"Did I?" Zeraphon said calmly. "Then show me you understand it."
Lucio gave the slightest nod… then lowered his gaze.
"…I understand," he said, turning to face Kuromi.
"L-lucio?"
"It's not personal," he muttered. "It's just war."
"Well, well, well, isn't this a turn of events, master hahahaha!" The smiling man's laughter echoed through the chamber.
Lucio took one slow step forward.
Then another.
Then another.
Head down. Shoulders tense.
Until—
He spun.
Faster than the eye could track.
His fist ignited with a shockwave and drove straight into the Smiling Man's jaw.
The blow connected—and sent the creature flying across the room into the wall.
Kuromi gasped.
Zeraphon raised a single brow.
The Smiling Man peeled himself from the stone like paper dipped in oil, smile unfading but his neck bent at an awful angle.
Lucio's voice came low, rough, and steady.
"You think just because I'm new, I'm yours?"
The Smiling Man giggled, then cracked his neck back into place.
"Fresh and feisty. I like that. But let me show you…"
He raised his hand.
Zeraphon didn't even look—he just lifted two fingers.
The floor opened.
No warning. No shift. Just a snap of nothing.
Lucio turned to react—but even as his arm moved, the void swallowed both him and Kuromi whole, the blackness rising like a beast from beneath.
Kuromi's hand reached for him in the dark.
He reached back.
The last thing they saw before vanishing was the Smiling Man's upside-down face grinning into the void.
And then they were gone.