The heavy stillness in the base's core chamber was broken only by the sound of breath—labored, shallow, desperate. Zeph lay in a broken heap like the discarded statue of a forgotten hero, his blood staining the cracked floor beneath him, dripping in rhythm with the last beats of his fading will. Around him, the void itself seemed to hum with menace, as if reality was rejecting the presence of so many powers under one fractured roof.
And there, perched atop the rusted pole like a crow at the gallows, stood Noct, the Prince of Agony. His presence spread like thick smoke—dreadful, intoxicating, and impossible to ignore.
He tilted his head and smiled, a twisted curve of mirthless cruelty.
"You came," he said, his voice low but resonant, echoing softly against the metal and stone. "All of you... for one single man."
His eyes flickered across the room, pausing briefly on each face—Ice, his white armor humming faintly; Zixuan, standing still like a statue carved from the bones of forgotten warriors; Reinhard, whose silence spoke of something dangerous and raw beneath his calm; and the other elite figures of the three orders watching from the shadows.
"Wow," Noct continued, taking a step forward, arms lazily behind his back. "And despite that, you'll lose the ability to cry or grieve after this. You are truly... insignificant to this world, aren't you?"
The silence that followed was deep and reverent—until it broke.
Zixuan's voice sliced through the air like a blade made of sorrow and iron. His face remained emotionless, pale like carved porcelain, yet his tone carried the weight of years soaked in blood, loyalty, and silent pain.
"Despite my insignificance to this world…" he said in a voice as soft as falling ash, "I am superior. My pride is my only quest. My only way out."
He took a slow step forward.
"My way… is what I have chosen. Be it love or despair, I will always be the Lost One."
The room breathed with tension.
Noct's grin faltered, then twisted into something amused.
"I am forged from darkness," he whispered.
With a fluid motion, he summoned his sword—Agony—the black, rusted weapon that dripped with the regrets of a thousand souls. It screamed as it split the air, headed for Zixuan's throat.
But before the blade could meet flesh, a shrill clang echoed through the base.
Reinhard had moved.
He blocked the strike—not with a weapon, but with a broken pole torn from the debris, its ends jagged and humming with raw Metro energy. Sparks burst like fireflies as metal met metal. The force sent a ripple across the floor.
Noct's eyes widened, only for a moment.
He slid back, chuckling in disbelief.
"Well well… A child with backbone."
But he hadn't even taken two steps when Ice blurred into motion. With a rush of silver and white, he appeared behind Noct, one hand tightening around the Prince's neck with crushing force. His eyes, once cold, now burned with rage—pure, concentrated wrath forged in the flames of friendship and revenge.
"The only insignificance here," Ice said coldly, "is you."
Noct choked slightly, not in pain, but in surprise.
He gave a rasping laugh through clenched teeth.
"Am I…?"
His voice was low, a whisper tinged with madness and something far older than hate.
As Ice held him, Zixuan stared forward—unblinking, unmoved. Somewhere behind his gaze were memories of Nana's laughter, of Zeph's warnings, of pain swallowed so deep it became strength.
The others in the room gripped their weapons tighter. The world had shifted. A battle older than they could imagine was beginning to stir.
And the Lost One had made his move.