Sylphia drifted in silence, suspended between terror and awe.
The view before her was both beautiful and unbearable.
To her left, the crimson moon burned like an open wound.
To her right, a radiant door pulsed with divine authority.
Between them—nothing.
Except her.
From near the moon, something moved.
A dark figure flowed through the galaxy as if swimming through thought itself.
"I'm almost there," the voice called out, light and amused.
"Don't worry, Sylphia."
She laughed before she could stop herself.
Tears followed—joy tangled with fear.
The figure reached her.
"Hello."
The pressure hit instantly.
Ancient.
Familiar.
Terrifying—yet strangely gentle.
Around them, golden stars began to rot.
Their light collapsed inward, turning black, crumbling into ash.
"Who… are you?" Sylphia asked, her voice shaking.
The figure's face shifted, bending into a smile that didn't belong to flesh.
"Only two things were ever forced upon me," it said calmly.
"My birth… and my name."
It touched a nearby star.
The star dissolved.
"I'm called the Dark God," it continued.
"Yet I am no god."
"I'm called Corruption," it said softly,
"Yet all I grant is freedom… and desire… to those who choose to believe."
Ash scattered into the void.
"I am merely the shadow of a greater entity."
Its gaze slid toward the radiant door.
"An entity I despise."
"God?" Sylphia whispered.
"Bingo," the figure replied cheerfully.
It noticed the confusion still burning in her eyes.
"In simpler terms," it said, "call me Corruption. Or Dark God. Or nothing at all."
It spread its arms.
"This place is the Paradox of Corruption.
My birthplace.
Here, I am lord of all."
Sylphia clutched her head.
"But… Sammail is Corruption. Before him, Lilith was.
So how are you Corruption?"
The figure tilted its head.
"A fair question," it said.
"One I can't fully answer yet."
A pause.
"Think of me as the root of a vast tree."
A faint smile.
"And them… as its fruit."
Sylphia drifted unconsciously toward the radiant door.
"I still don't understand," she said.
"Why am I here?"
The figure glided to her and gently placed a hand on her shoulders.
Her movement stopped instantly.
"That's easy," it said.
"Sammail asked me to help you."
Her expression hardened.
"Help me become the monster he wants me to be?"
"How convenient."
The figure exhaled slowly.
"No."
It raised its left hand—toward the crimson moon.
"I can make you a true fallen angel," it said.
"Like Lucifer. Like countless others."
Then its right—toward the radiant door.
"Or I can restore you as a full angel.
As powerful as your father once was."
Darkness coiled around its form.
"It's your choice," it said firmly.
"Not mine. Not Sammail's. Not even God's."
"It's yours alone."
Sylphia's eyes widened.
"So it's… angel… or monster…"
Then something clicked.
She looked straight at it.
"Wait," she said sharply.
"How do you know my father?"
The figure laughed.
"Oh. Right," it said lightly.
"Silly me."
A pause.
"Gabriel isn't dead."
Sylphia froze.
"He's corrupted," the figure continued.
"And you know him… very well."
It leaned closer.
"Do you want the truth?"
Jester stood face-to-face with Sammail.
His eyes burned with rage and malice.
"You've grown hideous," Jester said quietly.
"Sammail."
He moved past him toward the Judge.
Sammail smiled.
He grabbed Jester's wrist.
"Sorry," he said calmly.
"But that bastard is mine."
Darkness surged.
A second horn cracked through Sammail's skull.
"And I want the truth."
Jester turned slowly.
"Is that so?"
Silence collapsed between them.
Two figures stood still—
one forged of desperation and void,
the other of madness and blood.
Behind them, the Judge crawled backward, dragging the Abomination with him.
"I have to run," the Judge thought desperately.
"Now."
The dead slaves began to regenerate.
Jester struck.
His fist passed straight through Sammail's skull.
No blood.
No bone.
Only darkness.
Only agony.
"This can't be—" Jester whispered, smiling wider.
His fist wouldn't move.
Black matter wrapped around it, devouring flesh and thought alike.
Jester severed his own hand and leapt back.
He stared at Sammail's pierced face.
"You really are hideous," he murmured.
A pause.
"Just like her."