---
The Celestial Hall
High above the mortal world, where stars burned like cold fire, the gods convened.
Twelve thrones. Eleven gods.
One remained empty—Azariel, the God of Choice. Silent since the day Serian awakened.
> "He grows too quickly," muttered the Goddess of Law.
> "Too well-loved," said the God of Pride.
> "Too dangerous," said the God of Death.
A god draped in shadow raised a hand. "We made him. A vessel. A prison for power. And now it leaks."
They turned toward the empty throne.
> "We gave him three pieces," the God of War said. "And he is forging a fourth."
They reached a decision.
> "Send the Seraph Host."
---
Serian's Vision
That night, lightning bled into Serian's dreams.
He stood in a field of glass, a thousand weapons buried at his feet.
And before him—three versions of himself.
The Hero, kneeling.
The Demon Lord, laughing.
And the Third… silent, eyes glowing like twin moons.
> "You are becoming," she whispered.
> "What am I becoming?" Serian asked.
But they only smiled.
> "The answer is written in ash."
He awoke to thunder.
---
Attack on the Capital
The Seraph Host came at dawn—spear-tipped light streaking across the skies.
Angels descended in columns of flame.
The city panicked. Screams echoed. Priests declared it divine justice.
But Serian stood tall atop the Sanctuary walls.
> "Let them come."
Beside him stood Ash, cloak flaring in the wind.
She pulled down her hood.
Violet eyes burned.
> "I remember this light," she whispered. "It once tried to kill me."
Serian gave the order.
The sky turned black with summoned beasts, cursed blades, and ancient spells.
The battle for the capital began.
---
Meanwhile: The Hero Clone Breaks
Watching the angelic invasion, the Hero clone faltered.
His team looked to him, but he only clutched his head.
> "Why… why do I feel like I'm on the wrong side?"
Visions flooded in.
Of himself kneeling before a god.
Of Serian standing where he should have.
Of violet eyes… watching.
He whispered,
> "Who am I… really?"
---
In the Dark Cathedral
The Demon Lord clone watched, smiling like a mother at a child's first war.
The children she raised—the orphans and misfits—prayed not to gods but to her.
She licked blood from her fingers.
> "Let the heavens burn. Then we rise."
---