"This isn't a battlefield.
It's a graveyard waiting to be realized."
— Kyrie
The sky was painted with static—crimson threads tearing through the void above a city long forgotten by time. The ruins of Hal'Mire stood like a mausoleum of broken empires, jagged and hollow. Not a soul stirred.
But the silence lied.
Because high above, reality cracked.
Kyrie floated mid-air, cloaked in the black void of nothingness. Not even the wind dared touch him. Below, thousands—five thousand elite assassins, each one forged in silence and murder—stood in formation. Their cloaks fluttered like feathers around blades honed by centuries of blood.
He wasn't interested in them.
"He stands there like a statue. Is this the one they fear?"
"He's human. Flesh and blood."
"We strike together—his power is meaningless if he's erased before he reacts."
Whispers of fools.
And still, he said nothing.
At his side stood Nyssia, her long black hair tied in a flowing arc, her new armor gleaming with golden veins of time-light. Her rifle Kelizor pulsed softly. Sephiron, the divine clock embedded in its body, ticked in reverse.
The moment was pre-destined.
And then, Calista appeared.
Above the Void
Wings. Ten of them.
Each one feathered in celestial blue, woven with strings of glowing scripture. The angel's face was both beautiful and cruel, and her eyes shimmered with mechanical intelligence.
"Lucian Viero. Or do you now go by... Kyrie?"
The name hung like frost in the air.
He turned, red eyes unfazed. "Names are for the living. I am neither."
Calista narrowed her eyes. "Then you're ready to be judged."
> "Commence extermination."
Ground Zero
The 5000 assassins moved as one.
They didn't scream. They didn't roar. They blinked forward—through teleportation sigils, divine speed, flight, crawling through shadows, and phasing between dimensions. Every technique on the spectrum of death aimed at one thing: Kyrie's heart.
And then—
Silence.
The entire world froze.
No, not froze.
Stopped.
Kyrie's aura exploded in blood-red light, enveloping a radius wider than cities. Trees, ruins, even sound and color—all erased.
"Nyssia," he spoke calmly. "Observe Sephiron."
Time ticked once.
> Tock.
[BULLET #11: Ereon – Time Stop]
Tock.
Nyssia's eyes glowed as the bullet carved through her perception, turning milliseconds into eternal clarity.
And Kyrie raised his hand.
Omega Radius Initiated
He whispered it, and the world obeyed:
> "Absolute Zero."
The very concept of presence vanished. Not death. Not destruction.
Unbeing.
The 5000 assassins—every cell of their body, every thought, every instance of their existence across timelines—wiped clean.
No scream.
No body.
Not even a shadow remained.
Calista gasped. "You—! You defied the Laws. That power... it doesn't belong in any world!"
Kyrie didn't answer.
He floated down to the ground. His footsteps echoed softly on scorched soil that no longer remembered life. He turned to Nyssia, brushing dust from her shoulder as if nothing had happened.
"That was not a battle."
"That was a reset."
Divine Tension
Calista descended slowly, her wings fluttering with static interference.
"Do you understand what you've done, Kyrie? You've committed a sin beyond angels, beyond even gods. You erased souls not from life... but from the Book of Time itself."
Kyrie tilted his head. "And?"
Nyssia pointed Kelizor at the angel without hesitation, the rifle's edges reshaping into a clockwork spear. Sephiron pulsed once—showing Bullet 14's shimmer—Thal'Zir.
Calista's gaze trembled for the first time.
"Sephiron has awakened fully..."
"You were meant to be a pawn, Nyssia. That crystal wasn't for you. It was bait."
Nyssia smiled. "I took the bait. Then rewrote the rules."
Calista raised a glowing sigil in the air—summoning a celestial arena across dimensions. A dome of pure white folded into the sky, encasing the three inside.
This wasn't Earth. It wasn't Heaven.
This was a False Dimension—a fabricated pocket where time and fate had no rules. Where angels made war.
Prelude to the Divine War
Nyssia stepped forward.
"Kyrie. Permission to engage."
He looked at her—not coldly, not distant.
But with a glimmer of pride.
"Permission granted."