(Alternate Title: When Even Silence Bleeds)
At first, no one noticed.
A bird fluttered from its branch.A glass shattered in a forgotten alley.A mother clutched her child tighter, unsure why.
Small things.Innocent things.
But the wise...The broken...The ancients...
They felt it.
In the celestial spires that pierce the skin of heaven itself,in the molten rivers where demons are born screaming,in the hidden places where reality frays at the edges—
Something stirred.
A heartbeat that didn't belong.A pulse that wasn't invited.
The Eye... throbbed once.
Lucifer Morningstar stood at the edge of a black cliff, smoking a cigarette he hadn't remembered lighting.
The sky above him was split open, bleeding stars like open wounds.
Next to him, Amenadiel hovered, wings outstretched, armor humming with forgotten prayers.
Neither spoke.Neither moved.
Because when gods hesitate, it means the universe itself is afraid.
Another pulse hit them.
Lucifer staggered slightly, catching himself against nothing.
Amenadiel gasped, hand clutching his chest.
"Something ancient... has moved," Amenadiel whispered.
Lucifer's mouth twisted into a bitter smile.
"No, brother.Something ancient has awakened."
In the hidden bunkers deep below the Vatican's catacombs, the organization known only to the elite as TP—Thanatos Primum—struggled to contain the chaos.
Screens exploded.Sirens died mid-scream.Holograms of containment fields blinked out, one by one.
General Illyria, scarred by wars mortals would never know, stood firm.
"Initiate Protocol Zeta-Prime!" she barked, voice shaking the bones of reality.
A technician, blood streaming from his nose, pulled the ancient key around his neck.
Inserted it.
Turned it.
A button, ancient and humming with unholy energy, rose from the floor.
Without hesitation—He slammed it down.
The ground cracked.The sky howled.
From a tear in existence itself, two figures fell.
No wings.No grace.Just raw, broken fury.
Lucifer Morningstar — the Lightbringer, arrogance incarnate.Amenadiel — the hammer of the Throne, the unbroken sentinel.
They landed with enough force to flatten mountains.
Dust rose around them like mourning veils.
Lucifer looked around, sneering.
"Well.It's been a while since someone dared call us without sacrificing half a kingdom."
Amenadiel ignored him.
His eyes locked onto the last surviving screen, flickering, spasming—
And there it was:
D...C...T.
The ancient letters.Etched in stone older than the stars.
Lucifer froze.
His cigarette fell from limp fingers.
Amenadiel's knees buckled, his sword slipping from his grasp.
Blood poured from their noses, their mouths, their eyes.
"No," Lucifer rasped, clawing at the burning sigils in his vision.
"Not him.Not the Forgotten One."
Amenadiel whispered hoarsely:
"Dravion... Céfiros... Thauron..."
The name tasted like ash and broken light.
Across the worlds—The hidden gods felt it.
The pantheons trembled.The demon lords sealed their gates.The ancient beasts stirred in their slumber.
For they all recognized what had shifted.
Not the rebirth of a god.Not the return of a king.
No.
The awakening of something that even they had buried.
Deep underground, forgotten by history, the Eye pulsed again.
Cracks spidered across the earth.Storms howled in alien tongues.
And in one, small, crumbling crypt...A figure slept.
Body broken.Mind frayed.Soul burning.
Not Renji.
Not human.
Not yet.
And as the Eye throbbed, the Ruby in his possession shimmered.
But it did not open.It pulsed.
Waiting.Patient.
In a place between time, where no god dared tread, a whisper stirred:
"Soon.The cycle repeats.The Tyrant returns.And the multiverse will weep."