Chapter 27 – The Saddest Hour
The Ruined Civilization groaned under the weight of destiny as the sky remained torn, bleeding stormlight and ash. The three stood against the storm—Lucian, Beelzebub, and Judson—alone, battered, and far from victorious.
The battlefield was silent. A tension so thick it could cut through flesh.
Judson, shirt torn and cigarette burnt down to the filter, cracked his knuckles. He spat blood and grinned. "You got bite, kid. But what happens when the leash snaps?"
Lucian didn't respond. His cloak fluttered in the ash-choked air. One eye glowing. The other darkened, shadowy. He had changed. Everyone could feel it—even Beelzebub had stopped joking.
Beelzebub wiped his lips, the blood black. "Council's not happy. But you know what? Screw them."
Judson charged. Lucian met him. The ground cracked.
Sparks. Lightning. Blades made of mana. Explosions that looked like craters in time. The ruined city below wept as fragments of its towers shattered with every blow. Judson fought like a beast. Lucian danced like a phantom. Beelzebub twisted space, laughing and blinking from dimension to dimension.
Every move from Lucian was poetry soaked in rage.
Every move from Judson was madness dressed in purpose.
Beelzebub, half-jester, half-god, turned the world upside down with each spell he threw.
Riv screamed. Neo was still unconscious. Luna, wounded, tried to crawl toward Neo's side, whispering, "Please don't die... please..."
Judson's blade struck Lucian's side. Lucian didn't flinch. He grabbed Judson by the wrist and slammed him into the broken stones. Over and over. Until the air rippled and Judson coughed blood. But the man just laughed.
"You'll break first, not me."
"No," Lucian whispered. "You already did."
Beelzebub snapped his fingers and erased half the battlefield for three seconds, sending both Lucian and Judson into a collapsing realm of illusions. They clawed their way out, coughing. Bleeding.
Then the light changed.
Everything. Stopped.
The wind. The fight. Even Beelzebub froze. His smile vanished.
From the sky descended silence. A cloak of black velvet heavier than fate. Beneath it, eyes—no emotion. No soul. Just cold reflection.
Morax.
He didn't speak at first. Just landed. Soundlessly. The moment his boots touched the ground, the battlefield cracked like glass.
Beelzebub's counter trembled. "Oh no. Not him. Not yet."
Judson wiped his mouth, expression grim. "Well... screw me sideways."
Lucian stared. A tremor in his fingers. He knew. Something wasn't right.
Morax raised his hand. The entire illusion shattered. The pain. The debris. All of it, gone. Neo's wounds. Luna's breath. Frozen in perfect stasis.
And then...
He looked at Lucian.
"All of your friends," Morax said, voice flat, "are fighting versions of me. Each of them will die."
Lucian's heart sank.
"What about the children?" he growled.
"I don't judge by age."
Lucian broke. The emotion in his chest exploded. The air warped. The Book appeared without being summoned.
"I NEED THEM BACK!"
The Book blinked. "You have one minute. One second more, and you die."
Lucian nodded.
And then the world changed.
The sky screamed. The stars pulsed. Every soul—illusion or not—felt it.
Power returned to Lucian like a dam breaking.
Hair flaring white. Aura crashing like thunder.
Beelzebub stepped back. Judson looked up, half-grinning.
"Now we're talking."
But Morax didn't flinch. There was no life in his gaze. Only calculation.
Lucian dashed forward, faster than sound, blade cloaked in blue flame.
They clashed.
Morax didn't move to block—he predicted. Every slash. Every blow. Every spell. Lucian's body moved, but Morax's soul anticipated.
Still—Lucian cut him. A gash across the shoulder. Nothing lethal. But enough. Enough to make Morax look at his own blood.
"A wound?"
Lucian was breathing hard. "I'll carve your timelines into hell."
For the first time, Morax tilted his head. "Impressive."
Then, Morax raised his hand. And the world dimmed.
Lucian fell.
Not unconscious. Not dead. Just—transported.
To the Dark Palace.
He awoke alone. Silent. The only sound was the flicker of a candle. His body floated in darkness. His voice—gone. His expression, hollow.
He didn't speak.
Didn't cry.
Didn't scream.
Just watched.
And somewhere in the broken timelines, Morax sat.
Watching. Counting. Waiting.
The timeline was cracked.
And Lucian was no longer the same.
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To be continued...