The golden gates of the Temple of Light opened without a sound.
Lucian stepped into the outside world for the first time—not as a man from Earth, not as a summoned hero, but as something else entirely. Something that didn't belong.
The air was fresh, scented with distant blossoms and faint magic. Above him, twin suns bathed the sky in orange-gold light. Mountains floated in the distance, held aloft by glowing runes, and massive cities spiraled upward like silver vines.
It was beautiful.
But all Lucian felt was silence.
Elaris followed behind him, her steps hesitant. Her divine aura had re-stabilized—but it was no longer dominant. Where she walked, the world bent politely.
Where Lucian walked, it yielded.
Villagers, soldiers, and temple guards all stared. They'd gathered in rows, expecting to see a radiant champion emerge from the Temple.
What they saw instead was a man with no armor, no halo, no divine glow—just a long coat, black boots, and an expression carved from calm apathy.
No fanfare greeted him.
Only fear.
A young priest broke the silence.
"Wh-who is he…?"
Another whispered, "Is that really the Hero of Balance?"
And then—
A burst of light tore through the sky.
From above, descending in a perfect column of golden fire, came a winged figure clad in silver armor, holding a massive halberd engraved with divine law. Six wings folded behind his back like curtains of flame.
Seraphiel, Archangel of Enforcement. Judge of False Heroes.
He landed with a shockwave that shattered the marble steps.
Elaris's eyes widened. "No—! He shouldn't be here!"
Lucian didn't flinch.
Seraphiel's voice boomed like a war horn. "By the order of the Celestial Tribunal, I am here to assess the summoned one."
He looked at Lucian. His eyes were hard. Calculating.
"Name yourself."
Lucian's hands remained in his pockets.
"You first."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Elaris stepped forward, alarmed. "Seraphiel, stand down! He is under divine jurisdiction!"
The archangel didn't even glance at her.
"I smell void on him," Seraphiel said coldly. "He does not belong in this world. The Tribunal suspects corruption."
Lucian looked mildly amused.
"And so the gods send a dog."
Seraphiel's halberd snapped into position.
"Insolence confirms guilt. I will erase you before the corruption spreads."
He launched.
He never made it halfway.
Mid-air, Seraphiel froze.
His wings locked.
His armor cracked.
His entire being shuddered, not from force—but from sheer rejection by reality itself.
Lucian had not raised a hand.
He had not moved.
He had only looked at him.
Just a glance.
Just awareness.
And the universe around Seraphiel responded with a singular, absolute message:
"You do not have clearance to harm this entity."
Seraphiel's body began to peel.
Not flesh—concept.
The idea of "being an angel" fractured first.
Then the "mission."
Then "identity."
One by one, the definitions holding him together unraveled like threads in a forgotten language.
He opened his mouth to scream, but even the ability to scream left him.
And then—He was gone.
Not dead.
Not destroyed.
Simply… erased.
Forgotten by the sky that birthed him.
Silence.
Lucian exhaled softly.
Elaris stared at the spot where Seraphiel had stood.
The others dropped to their knees, sobbing or praying or begging, unable to comprehend what they had witnessed.
Only Lucian remained standing.
He turned to Elaris.
"Was that supposed to impress me?"
She shook her head slowly.
"No. That… that was supposed to kill you."
Lucian nodded.
"Then this world is in more trouble than I thought."
High above, in the Divine Halls of Judgment, alarms wailed.
The Celestial Tribunal—twelve thrones of light that passed eternal sentence over realms—flickered with instability.
One seat was now empty.
"Seraphiel is gone," a voice murmured.
"Not slain," another corrected. "Unmade."
The oldest judge spoke. "There is only one being capable of that."
"But he is sealed."
"Apparently… not anymore."
A grim silence fell.
Back on the mortal plane, Lucian walked toward the temple gates again. The people moved aside like mist before a storm. Not out of reverence—out of primal fear.
Elaris followed, unable to speak.
They stopped at the edge of the plateau, overlooking the city below.
"Is this the capital?" Lucian asked.
She nodded. "Solaria. City of Light."
He squinted at the horizon. Floating towers. Spell-powered airships. Legions of armored paladins.
A world built to worship the divine.
A world built on lies.
"Tell me," he said. "What's the name of the god you all serve?"
Elaris hesitated. "We do not name the Highest. The Creator is above names."
Lucian's expression darkened.
"Convenient."
He raised a hand.
From his palm, black mist curled upward—then expanded, drawing lines in the sky. A sigil formed. Not in light, nor shadow, but in null—the absence of both.
The air dropped ten degrees.
Every spell in the city flickered.
Magical beasts howled. Enchanted towers cracked. The holy barrier around the capital… failed.
Lucian clenched his fist, and the sigil vanished.
It had been a test.
Just a tap on the glass.
And the world had nearly shattered.
Elaris finally spoke.
"What are you planning?"
Lucian didn't answer right away.
Then, softly, as if speaking to himself:
"I need answers. The Abyss, the gods, my past… something ties them all together."
Elaris stepped closer.
"Then let me help."
Lucian looked at her.
"You were ready to enslave me."
Her lips trembled. "I was told to."
"And now?"
"I… want to understand."
Lucian searched her eyes for a moment, then looked away.
"Don't follow me unless you're ready to see the truth. It won't be gentle."
He walked down the mountain path.
The sky rumbled. Far off in the east, a black storm brewed, swirling with red lightning.
From the center of that storm… something watched.
The Abyss had taken notice.
And it remembered him.
[System Alert]
Conceptual Memory Unlocked: [Design Pattern: Dimensional Laws]Passive Unlocked: [Spell Immunity EX] – All spells cast within 50 meters are negated by default unless permittedTitle Gained: [Anomaly of Order]World Threat Level: Catastrophic