The golden cathedral doors thundered open. Amarze strolled in with pride, dragging a cage of glowing red crystal behind him, its sharp edges scraping deep grooves into the marble floor. Inside, Zero twitched, their bloodstained eyes glowing faintly.

Angels and Saints turned to watch. Laughter rippled down the halls like a divine choir mocking a failed performance.

The monster of the trials—reduced to a prisoner.

KLANG.

Amarze slammed his foot against the cage, causing Zero’s body to jolt and rebound off its inner walls. “I said—pay attention.” His voice was smug, twisted with something deeper than victory. “We’re nearly at your punishment.”

Zero flinched. Sweat began to bead along their brow. Human.

It wasn’t just pain. It was something far worse.

Amarze stopped before the towering altar and looked up. Zero followed his gaze.

And there, on the throne of mutation, sat God.

“Imp.”

The single word struck like a thunderclap. From the high seat, a figure gazed down with infinite stillness. Glowing golden eyes studied Zero with surgical interest, boring into every wound, every instinct, every memory.

Then, Thidos moved. He pressed a hand to his face—then peeled it away, slowly sculpting it into something new.

Golden curls spilled from his crown. His face softened. Porcelain skin, baby-blue eyes, freckles like stars on pale flesh. A beauty no human should wield.

Zero’s breath caught in their throat.

“You’re not him…” they whispered, but their body had already betrayed them—shaking, sweating. A distant ache bloomed in their chest, somewhere between recognition and terror.

Thidos smiled. “Haven’t you missed me, old friend?”

The cathedral was silent. And then—

“Thidos,” Amarze spoke with the stillness of truth, “was once a man named Xeras Timpleson—the human who ordered Invalia’s destruction. Now, he is.. the God of Mutation.”

Zero recoiled. Their fingers curled against the cage floor.

Thidos lifted a hand—elongated, monstrous—and extended it toward Zero. It stretched across the cathedral, divine flesh uncoiling like a serpent of light.

“I don’t show this form to just anyone,” he said calmly, “but this is a special occasion. After all, you killed my son.”

A storm of memories slammed into Zero’s mind. Elliot’s eyes. His final scream. The blood. The fury.

That first act of rebellion.

“I don’t regret it,” Zero muttered.

“What was that?” Thidos’s tone didn’t shift, but the cathedral trembled. Reality cracked. The shockwave tore across the room, slicing deep into Zero’s flesh and forcing them to the floor.

“I said…” Zero’s voice was firmer this time, “I don’t regret it.”

Thidos laughed. A rich, unearthly laugh—his first in millennia.

“Good,” he said. “Otherwise, the punishment wouldn’t be any fun.”

Behind him, Amarze chuckled like a puppet built to mirror joy.

One by one, the divine arrived.

Saints. Angels. Some radiant, others grotesque. All glowing with righteousness and cruelty. At the front walked Eliza, her steps as light as feathers, her form that of a young girl—but her eyes held galaxies.

As soon as Zero saw her, they moved.

The cage exploded.

The Imp lunged out, divine blood bursting from their skin, rage overriding pain. But the moment they moved, Thidos raised a finger.

“Don’t be rash,” the god said, amused. “You won’t die. You survived Invalia. That makes you… a curiosity.”

He gestured, and lights flared from every direction—pure white, holy, merciless.

“You will be studied. Slowly. Carefully. And yes… painfully.”

Zero tried to roar, to summon flame, to flee—but the divine surrounded them.

Saints drew blades. Angels began to hum. The cathedral closed like a mouth.

And Thidos—no longer human—watched, smiling.