The sky was torn between light and shadow.
On one side floated Solarius, God of Order, wrapped in celestial fire that burned with the fury of a thousand suns. His obsidian greatsword crackling with divine judgment, each spark capable of erasing mortal souls from existence. Wings of pure light stretched behind him, casting shadows that fell upward, defying the very laws of physics. On the other side, stepping calmly from the blood-rift that had torn reality like wet paper, was Dark Luxius—Lucien's true reflection—clad in a black mantle lined with silver bone, a cruel crown of thorns hovering above his head like a halo of suffering.
And between them stood Lucien, chest heaving, blood dripping from his fingers like crimson rain, eyes glowing like eclipsed suns. The ground beneath his feet cracked and bled, unable to contain the power radiating from his transformed form.
