Paraxis was burning.
Not with fire—
with defiance.
The Watchers clashed with the Sole Exception Army across the flat, floating world, their forms tearing through space like shards of broken mirrors. Observation blades met void-forged authority. Causality screamed as it was bent, snapped, and rewritten mid-conflict.
Above it all—
Lucien Dreamveil walked upward, not flying, not teleporting—simply deciding that height applied to him.
And there—
Behind layers of glyphs, equations, inevitabilities—
Waited Boreh.
The script around Boreh surged.
Rules rewrote themselves mid-moment.
"AUTHORIZATION: GRANTED."
"WATCHERS MAY NOW INTERFERE DIRECTLY."
"LIMITERS: REMOVED."
The Watchers screamed—not in fear, but in relief.
They solidified.
No longer just observers with enforcement protocols—they became combatants.
Their bodies gained mass. Their strikes carried consequence. Their eyes burned with rewritten authority.
One Watcher turned toward Malthior, voice echoing like collapsing timelines.
"SURRENDER."
"THE RULES HAVE CHANGED."
Malthior stopped walking.
Then—
He laughed.
Not loud.
Not manic.
Just… amused.
"Oh?" he said, placing one hand over his chest.
"You think rules matter to us?"
The Watcher raised its weapon.
Malthior released his aura.
Paraxis shuddered.
The flat world cracked—fracture lines racing outward to the horizon. Watchers froze mid-air as gravity reversed, then collapsed inward.
Malthior's presence expanded.
Not power.
Intent.
The foundation of Paraxis trembled as if realizing it had made a mistake allowing him to stand upon it.
Malthior's eyes burned gold.
"Legion," he said softly.
"No more restraint."
The Sole Exception Army answered as one.
Their auras erupted.
Death stopped meaning anything.
Soldiers torn apart reformed instantly—void knitting flesh, authority recalling will.
They weren't immortal.
They were Lucien's will given shape.
As long as he lived—
They would return.
Kaelthar split Paraxis into layered shadow-realms, Watchers dragged screaming into dimensions that refused to be observed.
Alyth carved through rewritten laws, her blade humming with satisfaction.
Thariel roared, ripping Watchers apart and devouring their observation cores like dying stars.
The Watchers realized too late—
Boreh hadn't empowered them.
He had only allowed them to die properly.
Lucien stepped through the script.
And for the first time—
Boreh felt physical impact.
Lucien punched him.
Not metaphorically.
Not conceptually.
A straight, casual gut check.
The script imploded.
Boreh folded inward, golden glyphs shattering as the force bypassed every defensive clause.
"ERROR—"
Lucien hit him again.
Boreh flew backward, slamming into layers of causality, each impact erasing entire rule-sets.
Lucien appeared in front of him.
Another punch.
Another.
Each strike wasn't just pain—it was amnesia.
Boreh screamed—not in agony, but in confusion.
"I— I STABILIZE— I—"
Lucien grabbed Boreh by the face.
"Do you know what you are?" Lucien asked calmly.
Boreh's form flickered.
"I… maintain…"
Lucien slammed him into nothingness.
"No," Lucien corrected.
"You obeyed."
Boreh trembled.
For the first time since his creation—
He felt emotion.
Fear.
Sadness.
Loss.
"I DID AS I WAS TOLD," Boreh cried.
"I DO NOT KNOW RIGHT OR WRONG."
Lucien stopped.
He looked at Boreh.
Really looked.
And his expression softened—not with mercy, but understanding.
"I know," Lucien said quietly.
"That's why this was never personal."
Lucien stood, hands at his sides.
"I'm not good," he continued.
"And I'm not evil."
Boreh struggled to rise.
Lucien helped him up—gently.
"Good and evil must coexist. Balance isn't purity. It's tension."
Boreh listened.
Lucien's eyes burned with quiet conviction.
"My goal is simple," he said.
"To shape existence so mortals can choose.
To rise.
To live lives they actually want."
He glanced downward—toward Aetherion, toward Selene, Arios, Lysera.
"And yes," Lucien admitted.
"That includes my family."
Boreh trembled.
"THEN… WHAT DO YOU DO WITH ME?"
Lucien smiled sadly.
"I give you a choice."
Lucien extended one finger.
"You can live," he said.
"Witness the Twilight of the Gods.
See existence evolve beyond what your creator imagined."
Boreh looked up.
Golden light flickering.
"I WANT TO LIVE," Boreh whispered.
"BUT I CANNOT BETRAY MY CREATOR."
Lucien's smile widened.
Not mockery.
Respect.
"That," he said softly,
"was a good choice."
He stepped closer.
"You're a good being, Boreh.
You just met me… and your purpose no longer aligns with what comes next."
Lucien touched Boreh's forehead with one finger.
"I'll grant you eternal rest," he said.
"It's the least I can do."
Boreh's spiritual body began to dissolve—slowly—into golden dust, particles drifting like dying stars.
He smiled.
"THANK YOU… LUCIEN."
Lucien nodded.
"Rest well."
The last particles faded.
Boreh was gone.
Lucien turned away.
The battlefield below was ending.
"Malthior," he said calmly.
"Finish it."
Malthior bowed once.
Lucien looked upward—beyond Paraxis.
And smiled.
Then—
He vanished.
Like he had never been there.
The White Room -
Lucien appeared behind the throne.
The white chamber was endless—ceiling glowing softly, floor smooth as polished eternity.
The figure on the throne froze.
Lucien walked past him.
"You've been watching me since I entered Paraxis," Lucien said casually.
"I can't blame you."
He stopped beside the throne.
"I am who I think I am."
The figure smiled slowly.
"Didn't think I'd get a visit from you so soon…"
"…Lucien Dreamveil—The Sole Exception."
Lucien smiled back.
"Well," he said, summoning a throne of pure nothingness and sitting like royalty directly opposite,
"I guess my reputation precedes me."
He leaned back.
"So," Lucien continued calmly,
"would you mind telling me—"
His eyes gleamed.
"—what's your take on the fun little game you've been watching since I entered the White?"