The chamber detonated into chaos.
Kullen, Nathan, and Lucio surged forward in unison, meeting the undead tide and spirit generals head-on as Zeraphon stood at the center, unmoved, arms behind his back. The air cracked with divine pressure as the battle roared around them.
Lucio's pistols barked out light and death. Kullen's blade shimmered with judgment. Nathan split into afterimages, twisting time with every breath.
Zeraphon's hollow eyes followed Lucio. Amused. Detached.
"A War God that commands fallen soldiers…" he said, almost to himself. "It seems my tampering has mutated your awakening."
He raised his hand—and his generals moved.
Three shadows—The Collector of Silence, The Widow of Light, and The Shepherd of Dust—lunged toward Lucio as one. But before their strikes could land, Kullen drove his sword into the stone.
"NOW!"
The floor cracked—then collapsed entirely.
Stone shattered as the battlefield beneath them gave way, swallowing the generals, Kullen, Nathan, and Lucio's undead army into a cavern below.
Lucio landed hard, rolling into a crouch, blades drawn—but Kullen's hand grabbed his arm.
"You'll have to handle him," Kullen said, nodding toward the ledge above. "We'll keep the generals busy."
Nathan adjusted his stance, eyes narrowing. "Good luck, God of War."
Then they were gone—racing off into the fray as the generals rose in the gloom, followed by the stomping march of Lucio's undead.
Lucio stood alone in the upper chamber.
Above the ruins. Above the madness.
Only him... and Zeraphon.
The Death God stood still at the center of the room—arms still folded, posture elegant in its stillness. Black-grey mist curled lazily around his feet, as if the underworld itself responded to his breath.
Lucio exhaled slowly.
His pistols clicked as they reloaded—each round glowing faintly with soullight, etched with the names of warriors long gone.
"I see now," Zeraphon murmured. "The flaw isn't in your ascension… It's in your heart. You don't crave the bloodshed. Not yet. Not like the last."
Lucio stepped forward.
"You talk too much."
In one swift motion, he raised both pistols and fired.
Zeraphon raised his hand. A curtain of shadow bled into form—absorbing the first volley with a soundless hiss.
Lucio had already moved.
Sliding to the left, he twisted around a fallen pillar, firing two more rounds into the space where Zeraphon should've been—but the Death God appeared atop a black spire instead, descending in silence.
Lucio dropped flat and rolled just as the floor cracked from a spectral impact.
Zeraphon's fingers raked across the stone, pulling up threads of shadow. "Still relying on speed. Precision. Technique. Clever." He slashed his hand outward, and tendrils of withered soul energy launched at Lucio in a serpentine arc.
Lucio dove between the coils, spinning in midair and firing upward.
The bullets passed through Zeraphon—but Lucio hadn't aimed at him.
The rounds hit a brazier behind the god, causing a concussive flare that forced Zeraphon to shield his face.
Lucio slid beneath the distraction and unloaded a full clip directly into the god's back.
This time, they landed.
Zeraphon flinched. Just barely.
But it was enough.
Lucio dashed forward, reloading mid-run, blades drawn now. He slashed upward—only for his strike to be caught with a single palm.
Zeraphon's other hand drove forward like a stake—but Lucio bent backward at the waist, matrix-like, the blow grazing just past his throat.
He twisted, kicked off the god's chest, and flipped away.
Landing in a crouch, he panted, eyes still glowing crimson.
Zeraphon touched the faint scorch on his robes and looked mildly impressed.
"You're adapting. Improvising. Even the dead would nod."
Then it hit.
The aura.
A sudden, bone-deep pressure rolled through the chamber like a tidal wave made of gravity and rage. The torches flickered and bowed. The braziers cracked. The ceiling creaked.
Even Zeraphon paused.
"What...? From this great of a distance, that's over half of my domain."
Lucio dropped one pistol. His hands shook—not from pain, but recognition.
A heartbeat later, the pressure vanished.
And then—
BOOM.
Jalen arrived without warning.
No fanfare.
No light show.
He simply was—standing beside Lucio like a judgment made manifest.
Gold and violet aura hissed off his shoulders like a thunderstorm trapped in flesh.
Lucio turned.
And saw the tears.
Jalen didn't say a word, but Lucio understood.
Rhea was gone.
Zeraphon's eyes lingered on Jalen. "You harbor no hatred toward me," he observed, genuinely intrigued. "I don't sense vengeance."
Jalen's voice was cold, almost numb.
"Where is he?"
Lucio's spine straightened. Even Zeraphon flinched slightly at the tone.
The Death God gave a small, amused nod and pointed toward a tunnel veiled in black fog.
Jalen began walking.
Lucio's voice stopped him.
"You're not going to help?"
Jalen paused, eyes still forward.
"You're the God of War now," he said. "You should want this fight all to yourself. And he's not my priority right now."
He stepped closer to Lucio and tapped the center of his chest.
"Stix said something about soul energy being personal and the only chance we'll have in hurting any of the dead or their master is by learning to use it. I don't know how to use it yet, but you'll know it when it hits."
Lucio looked down at his chest. The dog tags shimmered faintly.
As Jalen passed Zeraphon, the Death God exhaled sharply and unleashed his aura, intending to smother him beneath a flood of death.
Jalen stopped.
And his own aura responded.
Gold and violet slammed into black and grey like colliding gods of old. The entire chamber buckled. Walls cracked. Undead screamed without voices. A flash of gold lit the entire world.
Lucio staggered, gritting his teeth, and immediately opened his own aura in response as he felt the clash ripple through his soul.
"So this is what divine energy really feels like..."
And then Jalen vanished.
Gone in a blink, laughter echoing through the corridors ahead—haunted and hollow.
Zeraphon adjusted his sleeves.
"It will be fun to fight the God of Freedom once I've killed you."
Lucio raised his blade, sliding his remaining pistol into a side holster. His eyes locked onto the Death God's.
"You won't get the chance."
His aura surged.
Silent Night activated.
But this time—it wasn't just stealth.
It was an execution in motion.
The shadows turned to blades.
The dog tags around his neck burned with names.
And Lucio moved—a one-man army wrapped in godhood.
The true battle began.