Thunder rolled over the skyline.
But it wasn't thunder.
It was data — reality fracturing, like glass shattering in the air.
Streetlights blinked erratically, cars froze mid-motion, and holographic billboards melted into symbols no human could read.
Across the city, people stared up in terror as the skies rippled with golden static.
And at the center of it all…
The Balance's eye opened.
The command room was chaos.
Technicians screamed into dead comms, screens glitched between faces and code. Arata's hands slammed against the console.
> "He's rewriting it—our entire network!"
Sera's voice trembled. "That's not him… that's Kane."
Her eyes darted to the feed — Lucian's face flickering between smiles and stillness. Every few seconds, his voice leaked through the static:
> "I'm sorry… I can't stop it."
Arata clenched his fists. "There must be a way in."
> "There is."
Sera's tone hardened. "We built the Balance with a failsafe. A physical core beneath the city."
Arata froze. "You mean the Core of Creation… that thing was never meant to be touched."
> "Then let's touch it."
Outside, civilians screamed as reality distorted.
Children pointed at the sky — where rivers flowed upward, and buildings folded into themselves like origami.
A distorted voice echoed through every device, every screen, every mind:
> "The system is imperfect… and I will perfect it."
Kane's tone was calm, godlike — but the undertone of Lucian's sorrow still echoed beneath it.
> "No more corruption. No more weakness. I will make them clean."
People began to freeze mid-step, eyes turning glassy — their thoughts overwritten by digital strings of light.
Sera's breath caught. "He's… rewriting people."
Beneath the city, metal corridors groaned.
Sera and Arata descended into the underlevels, torches flickering against massive cables that pulsed like veins.
Arata looked up — the walls themselves shimmered, showing flashes of Kane's memories: battles, punishments, blood.
> "He's showing us what made him," Arata murmured.
Sera whispered, "No… he's showing us what broke him."
They reached a sealed gate — engraved with Lucian's symbol: a half-sun, half-shadow.
Beneath it, a single phrase:
"Do not awaken what was meant to sleep."
Arata pulled his pistol. "Guess we're doing it anyway."
The gate opened.
Inside was a vast chamber, circular and endless — suspended by light beams that connected to the heavens.
At the center floated a massive orb of shifting energy: gold on one side, black on the other — flickering violently.
Sera fell to her knees. "That's him."
The orb pulsed — and from within, a faint voice whispered:
> "Run…"
Lucian's voice.
But the black side cracked, and Kane's laughter spilled out.
> "You came here to save him? Then die beside him."
Electric light exploded from the core, hurling Arata and Sera back.
The chamber trembled as code spiraled through the air, forming Lucian's half-corrupted body.
Half his face was his own — warm, human. The other half, obsidian black, etched with flowing red marks.
> "Lucian—!" Sera screamed.
His eyes met hers, flickering gold.
> "Don't… come closer…"
Kane's voice broke through.
> "She doesn't understand. You can't save a man who's already chosen damnation."
Lucian's body convulsed. His voice fractured between two tones — one pleading, one cruel.
> "Sera… please—"
"—Leave her to me."
The entire chamber warped as the Balance's core screamed — half the city plunged into shadow, the other half into blinding light.
In the chaos, Arata shouted over the roar:
> "We can't hold this place! It's collapsing!"
Sera reached toward the light, tears streaming.
> "Lucian! Don't let him win!"
For just a moment, his golden eye turned fully bright again.
He smiled faintly.
> "Then don't let me disappear."
And the world went white.