Loki stopped screaming.
Not because the pain lessened.
Not because he adapted.
But because there was nothing left inside him that could beg anymore.
Lucien stood above what remained—an outline of a being, barely held together by corrupted authority and borrowed divinity. Nohr, the Sub-Creator Realm, no longer shone white. It had dimmed into a colorless void, as if even the concept of purity had withdrawn in disgust.
Lucien looked down at Loki.
"You're done."
He reached out.
And tore him apart one final time—not violently, not theatrically, but absolutely. Loki's existence unraveled into strands of narrative, causality, and enforced law, all stripped bare in Lucien's grasp.
Then Lucien reached deeper.
Beyond flesh.
Beyond spirit.
Beyond identity.
He touched the core mechanism of reincarnation itself.
And rewrote it.
Lucien spoke—not loudly, not cruelly—but with certainty.
"You will be reborn," he said.
"Again and again."
The fragments of Loki's essence trembled.
"Not as a god."
"Not as a ruler."
"Not as a watcher of laws."
Lucien closed his hand.
"You will be human."
Reality accepted the sentence.
"You will grow knowing emotion," Lucien continued, voice calm as a judge delivering a verdict.
"Love. Hope. Attachment."
The strands twisted.
"And every time—every single time—you believe you have found meaning…"
Lucien's eyes darkened.
"…everything around you will die."
Worlds collapsed in projection.
Families vanished.
Friends turned to ash.
Civilizations withered.
"You will live long enough to understand loss," Lucien said.
"Then you will die too."
The punishment deepened.
"This will repeat across millions of years. Across iterations. Across probability and chance."
Loki's remaining consciousness finally reacted—not with fear, but understanding.
"No—" he tried to say.
Lucien's voice cut through him.
"And when you finally understand why existence hurts—
when you finally grow tired of rebirth—"
Lucien's fingers closed.
"I will kill you."
Lucien did not crush Loki.
He ended him.
Not in one timeline.
Not in one continuity.
Lucien erased him in all timelines simultaneously—past, present, hypothetical, abandoned, unrealized. Every reincarnation collapsed inward, folding into nothing.
No soul escaped.
No echo remained.
The Sub-Creator of Nohr ceased to exist.
Forever.
Nohr shattered—not violently, but like a dream dissolving upon waking.
Lucien stood alone in the white that remained.
Then he looked upward.
Not toward a direction.
Toward a presence.
"I'll meet with you soon enough," Lucien said calmly.
"Creator being."
Something brushed against the space between worlds.
Not an arrival.
A reaction.
The white room shook as a vast, corrupted essence scraped against the boundaries of planes—rage without form, will without clarity. The remnants of the original Creator, now warped beyond recognition, noticed.
Lucien smiled.
A genuine one.
"Throw a tantrum all you like," he said.
"Your ending is nearer than you think, corrupted one."
The pressure withdrew.
Not in retreat.
In promise.
Lucien turned away.
Paraxis welcomed him in silence.
The flat, floating realm stretched endlessly, Watchers scattered across it like frozen stars. The Sole Exception Army stood where Lucien had left them—unmarked, unbroken, victorious.
Malthior rested his great sword against his shoulder.
Veloria leaned against a fractured monolith.
Alyth, Thariel, Vorynn, and the rest stood or sat nearby, relaxed as if the war had been nothing more than exercise.
Elyndor approached slowly.
Lucien looked at them all.
"Malthior," he said simply.
"It's time to go back."
Malthior nodded once.
Lucien then turned to Elyndor.
"You will be the one to observe them," Lucien said.
"I'll feel more comfortable with you doing that."
Elyndor inclined his head, understanding the weight of the trust.
"I will watch," he replied.
"And remember."
Lucien vanished.
Not with force.
Not with spectacle.
As if he had never been there at all.
PLANET AETHERION-
Seraphyx stood with her arms crossed atop a broken ridge.
Below her, Arios Dreamveil moved like a storm given purpose—void-laced strikes tearing through towering monsters, his movements precise, disciplined, sharpened by countless battles.
"Again," Seraphyx commanded.
Arios grinned, wiped blood from his cheek, and charged forward without hesitation.
She watched him closely.
Proud.
Protective.
THE DREAMVEIL ESTATE-
Soft light filtered through the ancient halls.
Selene sat by the window, calm and radiant, holding Lysera close. The infant fed peacefully, small fingers gripping Selene's robe as if the universe itself were safe in her arms.
Lysera's eyes—crimson and black—glimmered faintly.
The World Tree Ydris rustled far away.
Selene smiled down at her daughter.
Outside reality, wars ended.
Creators fell.
Existence reshaped itself.
But here—
There was only family.
And the quiet certainty that Lucien Dreamveil was coming home soon.