Smoke was still rising from the arena. Ashes floated like snowflakes in the ruined air. The nobles had already fled. The priests sent watchers. The sky itself felt cracked. And Ceyr stood in the center of it all with black veins glowing beneath his skin, the Crest of the Devourer pulsing above his head like a living shadow. His eyes were dim gold now, not from power, but from something older, something darker. Deep inside his chest, the voice of the beast whispered again and again, *"Devour. Break. Rule."* But Ceyr ignored it. He looked at his hands, still steaming, still twitching with energy. His bones felt like they were made of blades. His blood burned like it didn't belong to him anymore. All around him the other cursed ones who used to laugh at him were hiding behind stones, afraid to speak. The guards who once kicked him were buried or gone. But Ceyr didn't chase them. He didn't need revenge. They were small now. Ants. The throne inside him was calling for something greater. But just as the silence thickened, a new sound cut the air. A single note. Like a bell made of ice. And then everything went still. A silver chain dropped from the sky like lightning and stabbed the ground in front of him. From above, floating down calmly, came a man in black and white robes, face covered in silk, eyes glowing like stars. He held a blade shaped like a tuning fork, humming with holy light. His feet touched the ground without sound. The man didn't speak at first. He simply raised a scroll. Unrolled it. And then he read in a cold voice: *"By divine order of the Eighth Heaven, the creature named Ceyr Draven, host of the Devourer, is marked for deletion. You are no longer part of the written world. Prepare to vanish."*
Ceyr didn't even flinch. The black throne behind him shifted. The mouth in his hand twisted open, smiling with hunger. The voice in his body hissed with laughter. The man from the sky stepped forward. He was called a Chain Saint, an assassin from the divine scrolls, a being trained to erase threats before they grew. Only sent when gods were afraid. His blade hummed again and then the fight began. He vanished. Ceyr moved too, instinct guiding him, dodging to the left as the chain whip sliced the air. Sparks exploded. Stone cracked. The Chain Saint was fast, faster than any creature Ceyr had seen, warping around him like wind, slashing, striking, binding. In seconds Ceyr's arms were wrapped in glowing chains. His feet were caught. The mouth on his hand was sealed by divine thread. The Chain Saint raised his sword and whispered, *"I cut fate."* He swung down. Ceyr screamed. But not in fear. In rage. And the world broke.
A second Crest exploded behind Ceyr. Not normal. Impossible. Only one Crest could live in a body. But Ceyr wasn't normal anymore. A second throne of darkness rose behind him. The chains binding him melted. The divine thread burned to ash. His body shook with black light. From his back, two massive arms grew out, made of shadows and broken stars. The mouth on his hand split wider. Time around him twisted. The Chain Saint stepped back, stunned. *"Impossible,"* he whispered. Ceyr's second voice growled, *"We are not one... We are legion."* Then Ceyr charged. The throne vanished behind him. His foot shattered the stone as he launched forward. The Chain Saint swung. Ceyr ducked. The second arm grabbed the assassin by the throat and slammed him into the sky. They rose together like a black comet. Midair, the Chain Saint summoned a glyph, turning his whole body into wind and steel, trying to slip through Ceyr's grip, but the Devourer's hand followed. No escape. The battle became a dance of light and death above the pit. Blades. Chains. Fire. Screams. Every time the Chain Saint struck, Ceyr's body cracked, but healed. Every time Ceyr struck, space itself bent around the impact. In the end, the assassin tried to retreat, chains spinning, calling to the heavens for another gate. But Ceyr wasn't going to let him leave. He raised both arms, and the two shadow arms clapped together. The entire sky folded. The gate shattered. The Chain Saint's body froze mid-escape, locked in light. Ceyr floated behind him, whispering only one word. *"Devour."*
The mouth opened wide. A thousand voices screamed. The Chain Saint vanished. His power, his knowledge, his Crest — all pulled into the dark. When it ended, only Ceyr stood alone in the sky, breathing heavy, dripping sweat, blood, light, and shadow. Below, the watchers from the Divine Court ran back to their gates. Far away in the highest tower, the Lords of Fate shook with fear. The prophecies had been wrong. The Empty Child was not a vessel. He was the Throne. And he had just eaten a Saint.
Down in the ruins, Ceyr floated back to the broken arena. The cursed ones knelt. Not out of worship, but fear. But he didn't want their praise. He walked through the pit alone. As he passed a shattered mirror, he saw his reflection. Not a boy anymore. Something more. His eyes were gold and black. His skin carried veins of flame. His Crest still hovered. But something deeper had changed. The world hated him. The gods feared him. The sky rejected him. But now\... now it would bow to him.