The throne room was a cathedral of broken light and shattering shadow. The divine shield that had once bent reality now splintered into jagged fragments, glittering like shards of a dying sun. Kairo's crimson aura flared, Bone Blade poised, every bone in his constructs vibrating with the promise of the final strike.
In his mind, the gods bickered and nagged endlessly:
"Zahrathos, seriously? You sold your soul! I told you this would happen!"
"Focus, Red-Eyed One! The left flank—no, the cracks!"
Kairo clenched his teeth, eyes narrowing. Quiet. Just watch.
Time slowed. The air shimmered, the dust hanging heavy like a curtain. Hades stood atop the fractured throne, imposing and eternal, but the cracks in his divine light reflected his first real weakness.
Kairo inhaled, letting the rhythm of that familiar song echo in his mind — the same melody that had played when he first stepped into the arena, when fire and fear had coursed through him. Step by step, he advanced, chains coiling, Bone Blade glowing like molten crimson, aura spiraling around him like a living storm.
The world seemed to hold its breath.
With a sudden, fluid motion, Kairo leapt forward. Bones erupted from the floor, spinning around him like a cyclone. The Bone Blade hummed as he spun it overhead, gravity and shattered light bending in anticipation.
Slash.
Time froze for a heartbeat. The Bone Blade arced in a perfect, devastating line — crimson energy trailing, aura flaring in waves, shards of fractured shield and light cascading like snow around him.
Hades' eyes widened, just a flicker, just a fraction of doubt — and then the blade struck, slicing through the heart of the throne, the last of the divine shield, and finally, Hades himself. Light splintered, gravity snapped, shadows collapsed.
The sound was deafening yet strangely silent, a single, pure note of justice and vengeance resonating through the chamber. Crimson energy pulsed outward, the storm settling into a calm, final breath.
Kairo stood tall, chains coiled at his back, Bone Blade dripping with the remnants of shattered divinity. The gods in his mind, still nagging, were drowned out by the beauty of the moment: victory carved in blood, bone, and crimson light.
And as the echoes of that first song lingered in the air, Kairo — the Red-Eyed One — had rewritten Hell itself.