Luke's chilling voice already gave them an answer, "It doesn't matter anymore, he's already here."
Riis wasted no time after Luke's terrifying pronouncement. She barked orders at Akane and Kyra, then pulled her wicked, pitch-black rapier from its sheath. The Morningstar Headquarters shrieked with intrusion alarms, and the core anti-fallen angel wards dissolved in shimmering bursts, confirming Luke's warning: Lamina Mortis was already here.
Before she could leave the Tactical Room, the massive obsidian door at the far end of the hall imploded.
Standing amidst the smoking rubble, his purple eyes burning with cold, fanatical hatred, was Lamina Mortis.
"I found you, little puppets," Lamina purred, resting his gaze contemptuously on Riis. "And the Calamity Princess herself. It will be far more satisfying to watch your little kingdom disintegrate."
Riis met his gaze, her fierce resolve hardening into pure demonic aggression. Calamity Princess was not an empty title; it designated a power meant for utter, widespread destruction.
With a primal roar that shook the very foundations of the structure, Riis raised her rapier. A vortex of swirling, incandescent Crimson Hellfire erupted from her body. This power of mass entropy tore across the hall, leaving scorch marks on the obsidian that had stood for centuries.
Lamina did not dodge; he merely raised a hand. A vast, shadowy dome formed instantly, absorbing the furious heat and light. "A truly vulgar display, Riis. But you are predictable," Lamina said, taking a step toward the Tactical Room. "I will handle the Calamity while my more practical forces dismantle your guards and secure the girls."
"Don't bet on it," Luke said, stepping out from behind Riis and leveling a black stare at Lamina.
Lamina laughed, a harsh, dismissive sound. "The crippled pawn speaks. You are a threat of the past."
Luke ignored the taunt, focusing his mind inward. He felt the terrifying, fragile structure of his soul—the cracks were still raw. He knew that to summon his forces again was a monumental risk, but the alternative was annihilation.
He planted his feet and uttered a single word, his voice resonating with both infernal power and agonizing strain: "Command."
Immediately, a crimson sigil the size of a manhole cover slammed into the floor behind him, radiating overwhelming power. Eight pillars of concentrated demonic energy erupted from the sigil and solidified with a sound like tearing metal.
The Crimson Knights materialized.
They were eight figures of pure, black and crimson power, each a terrifying entity distinguished by the names Luke had given them: Snoke (the swordsman), Robin (the archer), Tank (the hammer wielder), and the others.
"Knights! Perimeter Breach! Engage and hold!" Luke commanded, pointing at the shattered doorway. "Tank, secure the rear. Snoke, lead the charge!"
With a unified roar, the eight named Knights launched themselves out of the Tactical Room and into the main halls of the Headquarters. The sound of explosions and the clash of demonic power against Lamina's Grigori forces erupted from the corridors.
The room was silent save for the roar of the distant battle.
Riis, Kyra, and Akane stared at the empty space where the Knights had stood, their faces frozen in pure shock. Riis's rapier drooped momentarily.
"He... he didn't just summon them once," Kyra whispered, her eyes wide with terror. "Eight named entities! That should have killed him!"
Yuma, however, smiled faintly. "Told you," she muttered under her breath.
Lamina, for the first time, looked genuinely irritated. "An elegant, if reckless, solution to an internal defense problem. The move buys your guards time, little Pawn."
"It buys you time, Lamina," Luke countered, clutching his chest as a wave of pain shot through his soul. "Time to realize you can't just walk in here."
"The Knights are fighting Lamina's shock troops, but they're draining my soul's stability every second," Luke snapped, pointing a trembling finger at the holographic display where the remnants of the anti-fallen angel ward were dissolving. "Lamina nullified the seal using his stolen knowledge of cosmic timing. The ward's flaw is simple: it's a static defense keyed to the celestial positions of judgment at the time of the Great Flood."
Luke pointed to Kyra. "Kyra, you have your mother's core power—the Angel of the Stellar Rulers—latent in your blood. You can match his knowledge."
"What do I do?" Kyra demanded, stepping forward, her fear replaced by grim determination.
"You need to re-key the ward to a constantly moving point: the Moon's Path," Luke instructed. "That will make the seal fluid and impossible for him to bypass or nullify. Riis-sama, I need your power and Akane's spatial matrix to channel the energy. Kyra will act as the live catalyst. This will lock Lamina Mortis in this dimension and make it impossible for his forces to receive reinforcements or use retreat portals."
Riis didn't hesitate. "Akane! Get the core channel open! Kyra, you heard the Pawn—move!"
Riis and Akane channeled power toward Kyra, who stood before the holographic display, chanting a low, complex spell drawn from her mother's celestial bloodline.
Lamina Mortis instantly understood the catastrophic danger of Luke's plan. He would not be locked down.
"You won't seal me here!" Lamina roared, his voice thick with cold, unleashed fury.
His shadowy aura intensified, transforming into eight massive, razor-sharp black tendrils that shot out toward the team. Four lunged for Kyra, who was acting as the ward's catalyst, and four aimed to pierce Luke's core.
"Think again, Fallen!" Riis screamed, instantly leaping forward.
With a surge of power, Riis met the attack. She unleashed a Calamity Burst—a terrifying, short-range explosion of disintegrating Crimson Hellfire that annihilated the four tendrils aimed at Kyra.
Lamina hissed in annoyance. The remaining four shadow tendrils accelerated toward Luke.
Luke tried to move, to summon a shield, but the agonizing strain of maintaining Snoke, Tank, Valis, and the other five Knights was already too much.
Riis was there again, impossibly fast. She spun her rapier, cloaking it in a sheath of pure, consuming red light, and intercepted the tendrils. The clash sent sparks of crimson and black light exploding outward, forcing Lamina to step back.
"He is my Pawn, Lamina," Riis snarled, her demonic power radiating intense heat. "And you will not touch him!"
The duel began immediately, a chaotic blur of Riis's devastating Calamity strikes against Lamina's superior, precise Grigori shadow magic, while Kyra and Akane raced against time to implement the celestial fix.
Luke stood, hunched over, his hands braced on his knees, his mind desperately clinging to the last shred of consciousness. The true agony was internal: the connections to his Crimson Knights were fraying like strained threads.
The subtle, constant tremor in his chest suddenly became a violent, searing agony. The conceptual patch over his soul's wound failed.
A high-pitched, desperate shriek erupted from the core of Luke's being.
Luke's eyes rolled back, and he pitched forward, collapsing to the obsidian floor with a heavy thud.
In the midst of their frantic duel, Riis roared Luke's name in alarm. Kyra cried out in panic, her concentration on the ward failing immediately. Lamina Mortis seized the momentary lapse in both the ward and Riis's concentration, unleashing a devastating counter-attack.
Luke's physical body lay still, but his consciousness was violently wrenched out of the material world. The surrounding light dissolved into an endless, crushing blackness. The roar of the Calamity Burst and the clash of Lamina's shadow magic faded into a deep, unsettling silence. Luke found himself back in the void, the cold, existential pressure instantly surrounding him. He was truly alone again, his soul cracking under the impossible strain.
The crushing blackness of the void dissolved, replaced by a vast, cold expanse of geometric perfection. Luke opened his eyes to find himself standing on the colossal, obsidian and bone-white platform—the Chess Space—the conceptual manifestation of his inner world.
Before him, floating in the chilling emptiness, were his Eight-Pawn Pieces. They were eight simple, shimmering crimson chess pawns, pulsing with the unstable energy that was tearing his soul apart.
"Why? Why does this keep happening?" he thought. "My Multi-Promotion is supposed to be stable."
A low, resonant voice, a sound of ancient, unyielding judgment, spoke directly into the core of his soul.
"You're using one side of the coin, and that will not help you. This will keep happening to you unless you unlock your burden to a new side of power."
Luke understood. The Apostles' Eyes—his suppressed divine power—were the key. He had to accept the totality of his nature.
He looked across the Chess Space. On one side, a vortex of swirling, dark crimson energy manifested—the Dark Gate. On the opposite side, a shimmering, swirling sphere of golden white light formed—the Golden White Gate.
Luke focused his will. He commanded the pawns to move, splitting his core power.
Four crimson pawns—Snoke, Ezio, Rager, and Thunder—gravitated toward the Dark Gate.
The remaining four—Robin, Valis, Gale, and Tank—hovered, their crimson glow faintly battling a pale golden light as they drifted toward the Golden White Gate.
Luke walked toward the magnificent Golden White Gate. He stood before the four pawns, and spoke the command that would embrace the totality of his burdened power.
"White Piece."
A brilliant, blinding flash of light erupted. The four pawns instantly shed their crimson hue.
They transformed into a magnificent, shimmering transfiguration white with a distinct golden signature, radiating a power that felt both celestial and profoundly alien.
The resonant voice returned, sounding less like judgment and more like curious approval.
"Well, you have shown promise. Holy Devil."
Luke's mind reeled. He was no longer just a promoted devil.
In the Tactical Room, Tank and Thunder continued their steadfast defense over the unconscious Luke and the worried Asuna. Tank slammed his war hammer down, creating a crater that swallowed three charging Grigori.
Suddenly, a wave of raw, fundamental power pulsed from the unconscious Luke. It wasn't the violent, unstable energy from before; this was a coherent, evolving force.
The eight Crimson Knights—both those fighting in the halls and Tank and Thunder guarding Luke—froze. Their crimson armor began to glow with an ethereal golden-white light, pulsing like a newly awakened heartbeat.
Lamina Mortis, mid-parry against Riis, faltered. His purple eyes snapped to the unconscious Luke, a flicker of pure bewilderment on his face. "What... what is this?" he hissed, abandoning his attack on Riis to stare.
Riis, seeing Lamina's shock, followed his gaze. Her own eyes widened in disbelief.
The pulsing light surrounding the Knights intensified, growing so bright it forced everyone fighting—Lamina, Riis, and the others—to momentarily shield their eyes.
Then, with a sound like shattering crystal and a rush of released energy, the light exploded outward.
When it faded, the Crimson Knights were utterly transformed.
They now possessed fully human bodies, each perfectly formed, exuding a unique presence. Their previous, imposing crimson armor remained, gleaming and magnificent, but their helms were gone, revealing striking, individual faces. Their eyes now held the depth and clarity of awakened souls. They radiated a faint golden-white aura that shimmered through their crimson armor.
Snoke, the Swordsman, was a man with sharp, aristocratic features.
Robin, the Archer, was a woman of lithe grace, her long dark hair flowing freely.
Valis, the Mage, had a calm, scholarly demeanor, his robes flowing.
Tank, the Hammer Wielder, was a mountain of a man, his features stoic and unwavering.
All eight Knights now radiated a power that was distinctly their own.
A stunned silence fell over the entire battlefield. The Grigori forces hesitated, their shadowy forms wavering in confusion.
Lamina Mortis's face contorted. He could feel the conceptual shift. "What is this... abomination?!" he screamed, his voice raw with disbelief and rage. "They have their own souls!"
Riis stared at the transformed Knights. "I've never seen anything like it..." she murmured. She turned to Valis, the Mage Knight. "What just happened?!"
Valis turned to Riis, his new human eyes holding deep wisdom. His voice was calm, resonant, and distinctly his own. "Our King," he said, gesturing to the unconscious Luke, "has given us our own lives. We are no longer mere projections. We are independent entities, born of his deepest power."
The revelation was staggering. Luke hadn't just empowered his pawns; he had given them life.
Lamina Mortis was beyond furious. "No! Impossible! A devil cannot create life from his own soul! This is heretical!" He turned his furious gaze to the unconscious Luke. "Luke Akuma! Answer me, you bastard! What are you?!"
As Lamina's scream echoed through the hall, a soft, deliberate footstep resonated from behind Tank and Thunder.
Everyone's eyes snapped to the source. Luke was standing.
He walked past Tank and Thunder, his movements fluid and precise. The previous pain was gone, replaced by an unsettling, almost serene power.
His ordinary black eyes were now gone. Instead, they burned with the radiant, golden-white glow of his fully activated Apostles' Eyes. The familiar black sclera was replaced by an ethereal white. His face held a conceptual weight, an aura of ancient authority that made him seem utterly changed.
He looked directly at Lamina Mortis. He simply inhaled, a deep, easy breath, something he hadn't been able to take since he first summoned his Knights. Then, he smiled. The chilling, absolute certainty in his gaze delivered the answer Lamina didn't want to hear.
Riis gasped, her rapier now trembling. She felt the colossal surge of power from Luke, a power that transcended anything she, a Calamity Princess, had ever encountered.
Kyra staggered back a step. This was the true power of Sariel's forbidden lore—a power Luke had now embodied. He was a paradox given form.
Lamina Mortis stared, his jaw slack, all composure gone. "LUKE AKUMA, YOU BASTARD! WHAT EVEN ARE YOU?!" Lamina shrieked, his voice cracking with utter disbelief and dawning fear.
Lamina Mortis let out a final, raw shriek of hatred. "DIE, LUKE AKUMA!"
He slammed his heel against the obsidian, rocketing toward Luke, his shadow sword raised high. Behind him, the five thousand Fallen Angels screamed, surging across the chessboard in a massive, overwhelming tidal wave of pure malice.
Luke watched the carnage bearing down on them, his Apostles' Eyes burning with steady, golden-white fire. He did not move. He simply raised one hand, the golden-white light flaring across his palm, and let it drop. His voice, calm and absolute, cut through the din of 5,000 screaming enemies.
"Attack."
Snoke, Valis, Ezio, and Gale launched themselves forward. Their magnificent crimson armor now seemed to be sheathed in the transfiguration white with a golden signature, radiating a searing, pure energy.
Snoke was a flash of golden-white brilliance. His longsword, burning with purifying light, tore into the initial wave of Fallen Angels. Where the sword struck, the dark flesh and shadowy armor didn't just break—it vaporized, dissolving into a clean, white flash of light, leaving no trace of residual energy.
Ezio, the Assassin, was a blur of lethal precision. He moved through the ranks like a phantom, his daggers glowing with the golden light. Every strike was an instantaneous, fatal blow, consuming the Fallen Angel completely.
Gale, the Lancer, became a golden whirlwind. His spear was a streak of light, impaling multiple enemies with a single thrust, their bodies exploding into white dust.
Valis, the Mage, planted his caster staff and summoned a torrent of golden-white lightning and light-based magic. The energy bolts rained down on the massed Grigori, purifying and dissolving hundreds of enemy soldiers in seconds.
The initial engagement was devastating. The four Knights were achieving a level of efficient slaughter that defied all conventional understanding.
The observers watched in stunned, horrified silence. The sheer madness of the odds was a physical pressure.
"It's the light," Kyra breathed. "It's purifying power. It's the counter to everything Lamina's forces are. But the numbers... this is conceptual suicide!"
Lamina Mortis, however, was closing fast, ignoring the slaughter. "I don't care about the numbers, Devil! I will end you before your puppets can save you!"
The clash was immediate. Lamina's shadow-charged sword met Luke's raised hand—the pure, golden-white power of the Apostles' Eyes acting as an impenetrable shield. The fight was a blur: Lamina striking from the air; Luke matching him with uncanny speed and effortless blocks.
He's really annoying me with this aerial advantage, Luke thought, the subtle twitch in his lip the only sign of his rising irritation.
With a thought, he shifted his focus.
"Displacement," he murmured.
He didn't open a portal, but instead used the power to flash-step, blurring his form out of existence and instantly rematerializing directly behind Lamina Mortis.
Lamina, disoriented, twisted in mid-air. "What is—?"
"You're grounded," Luke stated, his voice arctic cold, cutting off the question.
Lamina felt a flash of pure, alien force as Luke hit him with a Blade Flurry—a torrent of compressed golden-white energy. Eight consecutive, lightning-fast slashes clipped the roots of Lamina's massive shadow wings. The Fallen Angel screamed, the pain agonizing as his power source was attacked directly.
Luke finished the devastating combo with a heavy, arcing Axe Kick powered by his divine core. The blow connected with Lamina's back, shattering his remaining composure and sending him crashing through the remaining walls and slamming into the obsidian floor in a plume of smoke and rubble.
Luke stood above the crater, his Apostles' Eyes burning down into the ruin. The Holy Devil was truly, utterly present.