The world outside was chaos.
But inside the Balance… it was silence.
A silence so vast, it drowned the concept of sound itself.
Endless corridors of light stretched beyond imagination — pure white data streams cascading through crystalline halls.
At the center sat a throne carved of shifting glass, and on it — Lucian.
His eyes glowed faint gold, his body unmoving, his voice quiet.
> "Is this… peace?" he whispered.
A dark reflection stepped out of the light.
Kane.
> "No," the reflection answered, "this is control."
Lucian turned, watching as Kane's form sharpened — black armor rippling like shadowfire, a grin spreading across his face.
> "You were supposed to sleep," Lucian said.
"You were supposed to vanish when I saved them."
Kane laughed softly.
> "You don't get it, do you? You can't save anyone without me."
Lucian clenched his jaw. The memory of the city — of Sera's face — flashed before him.
> "She believed in me. In us."
Kane tilted his head.
> "She believed in a mask. She loved the light — not the monster behind it."
Lucian's hand trembled. "You're wrong."
Kane smirked. "Then why did she run when she saw what you became?"
The white halls darkened. Lines of red code bled across the walls, pulsing with Kane's laughter.
Lucian stumbled back, and as he did — his reflection shattered. From the cracks, memories spilled out:
the night he first killed as Kane, the guilt, the promise to never lose control again.
But Kane stepped closer, whispering:
> "You built this prison thinking it was your salvation. But it's mine now."
The throne behind them twisted, splitting into two — one radiant, one wrapped in black flame.
Lucian reached for the light one, but his hand passed through it.
The dark throne pulsed in response.
> "You see?" Kane said. "The world chose me. The system runs on fear, and I am fear."
Lucian dropped to his knees, clutching his chest as pain shot through his mind — memories colliding, hearts splitting.
> "No…"
"Yes."
And their voices became one.
Outside, the Balance's systems began to falter.
Skies flickered between day and night in an instant.
Digital banners turned static.
The city felt it — the god's indecision.
In the metro, Arata stared at the readings.
"Something's happening," he muttered. "He's… fighting himself."
Sera's breath caught. "Lucian."
She turned toward the main monitor, whispering into the static.
> "If you can hear me… don't let him win."
Lucian stood in the ruins of his own mind — half light, half shadow.
Kane loomed above him, holding the edge of a blade made of pure black code.
> "One of us has to vanish," Kane said.
"Then so be it."
Lucian reached into his chest — pulling out a shard of light. It burned like a heart made of glass.
> "This is my last will," he said.
"Even if I die here, someone will remember who I was."
Kane smirked. "Then die with that hope."
Their blades collided — one of light, one of darkness — and the digital sky exploded.
Sera's screen flashed white, and a voice — soft, fractured — came through her speaker.
> "Sera…"
Her eyes widened.
"Lucian!?"
> "Don't stop… even if you hate me. Don't stop…"
Then silence. The signal died.
And far above the skyline, the Balance's symbol — the golden ribbon — cracked straight down the center.