The 'Archangel' jet tore through the dark, corrupted sky, its S-Rank engines running silent and cold. Inside, the silence was of a different kind. It was heavy, awkward, and thick with terror.
Jera sat in a crash-seat, the bloody, oversized Bureau jacket a poor replacement for his lost armor. His helmet was on the floor beside him, a cracked, useless prop. He was unmasked, his face bare, his golden, Ascended eyes staring at his own hands.
He was the 8th God. And he had never felt more human.
The S-Ranks—Aegis-7, Velocity, and Conduit—were not sitting. They were standing at a rigid, parade-ground attention, their backs against the opposite bulkhead, as far from him as they could get. They were trying to be soldiers, but Jera could feel their fear.
His new, Ascended senses were a nightmare.
He didn't just see them; he perceived them. He could feel the frantic, rabbit-fast thrum of Velocity's heart. He could hear the low, groaning protest of the metal in Aegis-7's armor, strained by his tense, rigid muscles. He could see the faint, electrical aura of Conduit's panic, a man desperately trying not to think about the last god-like being he'd encountered: the Corrupted Queen.
Jera hated it. This awful, suffocating reverence. He wasn't a god. He was just a kid who had panicked, broken the world, and then gotten a promotion for it. The irony was a physical, bitter taste in his mouth.
He looked away from them. His gaze fell on the only other person in the cabin who was sitting.
Seraphina was in the seat next to him. She wasn't staring at him with awe or terror. She was just... watching him, her violet eyes filled with a deep, aching worry.
"Are you... okay?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper over the jet's low hum.
The question was so simple, so human, it almost broke him. He looked at the chaos of his new life: the S-Rank soldiers who treated him like a nuclear bomb, the world on fire, the god-like power thrumming under his skin.
"No," Jera said, his voice raw. It was the truest thing he had said in weeks.
He instinctively reached for his mask, a subconscious reflex to hide. His fingers met the empty, cold floor. He was exposed. He hated being exposed.
Seraphina saw the motion. "It's better this way, Jera," she said, her voice soft, but firm. "They... we... need to see the man. Not the mask."
"What if the man is the problem?" Jera shot back, his voice low and bitter. "The mask... 'Cain Walker'... he was cold. He was logical. He wouldn't have... he wouldn't have done this. He wouldn't have... felt."
He looked at Seraphina, his new golden eyes burning with a desperate, self-hating fire. "Jera Murphy... he's the one who's a failure. He's the one who betrays everyone. He's the one who broke the world because he was trying to save one person."
"That's not a failure, Jera," Seraphina insisted, her hand inching towards his, before stopping, afraid to touch the new god. "That's not a bug. It's the feature. The 'Cain Walker' mask... that was the lie. The man who chose to save a person he didn't even know... the man who just cleansed a city... that's the truth."
She leaned in, her voice fierce. "You made a mistake. You didn't know you were breaking the anchors. It was an accident. But what you did in St. Louis... that was a choice. That was you, Jera. That was the 8th Ascended."
Her words hit him, not with the force of his railgun, but with the quiet, devastating impact of... hope. He didn't know what to do with it.
The tense silence was finally broken by Aegis-7. He cleared his throat, the sound like a rockslide.
"Conduit," the S-Rank rumbled, his eyes still locked on Jera. "Get the Commander on a secure, S-Rank channel. Now."
"Sir," Conduit stammered, his fingers flying over a holographic console. "She's... uh... she's already on. She's been on. The... the global channel. Line 1."
Jera's head snapped up.
Aegis-7's face went pale. He strode to the console and activated the speaker. "Commander Kane. This is Aegis-7. Please... confirm."
Elara Kane's voice filled the cabin. It wasn't the voice of a tactical commander. It was the voice of a single, exhausted, terrified person in a dark room.
"...Aegis. Thank god. We... we saw. The entire globe... we all saw it."
"Commander?"
"The... the Purge," Kane's voice was shaking. "Jera's... Ascension. The energy signature... it wasn't local. It was global. Every active Bleed-Fountain on the planet... it receded. It pulled back. For a full... thirty seconds. It was like a... a global gasp."
"It... it scared them," Seraphina whispered, her eyes wide. "His power... it scared the Bleed."
"It's coming back, though," Kane continued, her voice hardening, the commander returning. "The fountains are active again. London is gone. Tokyo is a warzone. The remaining S-Ranks are scattered, leaderless. They're just soldiers, Jera... and they're dying. The world is blind. We have no leaders."
She paused. This was it. The moment Jera had been dreading.
"The Hunter Bureau... the Guilds... the old structure... it's over. It's irrelevant. There is no more 'chain of command,' Jera. There is only you."
Jera felt the weight of the entire, burning world settle onto his shoulders. He felt Seraphina's hand finally, bravely, land on his arm.
"I... I'm not a leader, Kane," Jera said, his voice raw. "I'm... I'm just a guy. I... I caused this. I'm the last person who should be in charge."
"I DON'T CARE!" Kane's voice suddenly roared, full of a year's worth of frustration, fear, and desperation. "You're the only god we have left! You're the only one on the board who matters! The world is burning, and you are the only one holding a fire extinguisher! So I don't give a damn about your guilt! We need orders! What are your orders, Lord Walker?!"
The title was spat like a curse, a plea, and a prayer all at once.
Jera was pinned. He was being asked to lead a species he barely felt a part of, to fight a war he had started, with a power he was terrified of.
He looked at Seraphina. She was watching him, her eyes not just trusting, but expectant.
He looked at his S-Rank team. They were standing at attention, awaiting a command.
He couldn't be Jera, the victim. He couldn't be Cain, the robot. He had to be... something else.
He stood up. The bloody Bureau jacket felt impossibly heavy. He walked to the comm, his every step watched by his new, accidental army.
"First," he said, his voice clear and hard, vibrating with the first, tiny sliver of his new authority. "You will never call me 'Lord' again. My name is Jera."
Kane was silent on the other end.
"Second," Jera continued, "I am not a leader. I'm a weapon. And right now, I am a broken one. I am unarmored, my power is unstable, and I am tired. I need... allies. I need tools."
"What... what do you need?" Kane asked, her voice softer now.
"My broker," Jera said. "A man who calls himself 'The Vault.' He's the only one who can get me what I need, fast and quiet. His real name... his location... I don't know. Find him. He's in New York. He... he trusts me. He'll be our quartermaster. He's our first priority."
"A... a black market broker?" Kane sounded scandalized, even now.
"A resource, Commander," Jera snapped. "The old rules are dead. My rules are what matter. Second, I need armor. This... this jacket... it's not going to work." He half-smiled, a grim, humorless expression. "I need something that can withstand... me. The Vault will know how to commission it. Something S-Rank. Or... something new."
"And third," he said, his voice softening as he looked at Seraphina. "The Runestones. The 'Heresy Fragments.' They're the only real solution. Seraphina is my Oracle. She's the only one who can read them. Your new, primary job, Kane, is to use every remaining Bureau asset to find them. That's the only path to a real victory."
He took a deep breath. It was his first true command as an Ascended.
"Conduit," he said, turning to his pilot.
"Sir!"
"Get us to New York. Fast as this thing can fly. Get me to The Vault."
He turned back to the comm.
"Kane... the war is here. It's time we started fighting it properly."
"A-affirmative," Kane stammered, the military-speak a comfort. "I... I'll have a team... I'll find him. New York. We'll secure a landing zone at the old Bureau HQ."
"No," Jera said. "Don't secure anything. Don't make a sound. We're a ghost team. The world... the Bleed... it thinks I'm in Chicago. Let it. The last thing we need is a welcoming party."
"Understood. Godspeed... Jera."
The line clicked off.
Jera stood in the cockpit, looking out at the dark clouds. He had done it. He had taken charge.
It felt... terrible. It felt like a chain, wrapping around his neck.
Seraphina came up behind him, her presence a small, warm spot in his cold, new world.
"You did the right thing," she whispered.
"I just... I just painted a target on a man's back," Jera said, his voice low, his guilt returning. "The Vault... he's just a broker. Now I'm dragging him into a war with a cosmic horror. Just like I dragged you."
"You didn't drag me, Jera," she said, her voice fierce. She finally did it. She took his gloved, armored hand. His hand was a weapon that could shatter mountains. Her hand was small, and warm, and real.
"I chose to come. Just like they," she nodded to the S-Ranks, "are choosing to follow."
Aegis-7 stepped forward, his heavy boot clanging on the metal floor. He stopped next to Jera, a giant of old-world armor next to the new, sleek god.
"She's right, kid," Aegis-7 grunted. "You're the only one who can use the railgun. That makes you the captain, whether you like it or not. So, stop whining. We've got a world to save."
Jera looked at the S-Rank's rough, scarred face. He looked at Seraphina's trusting, violet eyes.
He wasn't alone.
He squeezed her hand.
"Conduit," Jera said, his voice stronger now. "Get us home."