The Deltonic Saber did not leave his hand.
Even after the throne hall emptied.
Even after Hell exhaled and resumed its endless suffering.
Even after Hades returned to his throne in silence.
Delta stood alone.
The blade rested at his side, humming softly, as if pleased to be home.
He stared at it for a long time.
"…She hated this thing," he muttered.
Hell responded with a distant rumble.
THE FORGE THAT REMEMBERS
The Abyssal Forge awoke at his approach.
Depth Seven stretched before him like the throat of a dying god — rivers of molten metal, black anvils suspended over voids, chains the size of mountains hanging from nothing. The air screamed here. Not with pain.
With memory.
Lord Ignival turned as Delta entered, molten eyes widening.
"…You still live," the Primordial rumbled.
Delta didn't stop walking.
"You still talk."
Ignival laughed, sparks spraying from his chest. "Then you remember what this place took from you."
Delta stopped at the center anvil.
The forge answered his presence — hammers striking on their own, runes burning awake.
"I'm not here for weapons," Delta said.
"I'm here for chains."
Ignival's laughter died.
THE MASTER'S BOND
The Primordial gestured with a clawed hand. From the shadows dragged something ancient.
Chains.
Not forged of iron.
Not of magic.
Not even of Hell.
They were made of will.
Each link shimmered with restrained annihilation, etched with impossible sigils — every one branded with the same name:
LYRIETH.
Delta swallowed.
Ignival spoke carefully now. "She made them to bind you. Not out of fear… but love."
"I know," Delta said quietly.
He reached out.
The moment his fingers touched the chains—
MEMORY UNBOUND
—he was elsewhere.
A memory ripped open.
"Again," Lyrieth ordered.
Young Delta stood bruised and shaking, arm trembling as he raised a practice blade. Lyrieth watched with calm, merciless focus.
"You hesitate," she said.
"I don't want to kill," Delta snapped.
Lyrieth struck him — hard enough to throw him across the training floor.
"Want has nothing to do with destiny," she said coldly.
"But restraint does."
She knelt in front of him, eyes softer.
"You will become something terrible one day," she whispered.
"And when that day comes… these will stop you from losing yourself."
She held up the chains.
"I will bear that burden for you."
The memory collapsed.
Delta gasped.
The forge shook.
"…She lied," Delta whispered.
Ignival watched silently.
"She didn't bear the burden," Delta continued, eyes burning.
"She became it."
THE MASK OF THE GOD KILLER
Delta turned away from the chains.
"Where is it?" he asked.
Ignival hesitated. "…The mask?"
Delta's voice was cold.
"The mark."
The Primordial nodded once and struck the anvil.
Reality split.
From a sealed vault emerged a black pedestal — and atop it rested a mask that drank the light around it.
Smooth.
Featureless.
Obsidian-black.
Two narrow slits where eyes would be.
No expression.
No identity.
Just judgment.
The God-Killing Mask.
The symbol gods feared more than his name.
Ignival spoke quietly.
"When you wore that… entire pantheons fled."
Delta stared at it.
"When I wore that," he replied, "I stopped being a person."
CHOICE, NOT COMMAND
The chains rattled behind him.
Lyrieth's restraint.
The saber's hunger.
The mask's promise.
Three paths.
Three sins.
Noctis' voice drifted faintly through the forge, though she was nowhere to be seen.
"You don't need it to kill them, Delta."
Delta closed his eyes.
"I know."
He picked up the mask.
It was cold.
Heavier than it looked.
The moment it touched his skin, ancient recognition surged.
The runes ignited.
Hell shuddered.
Delta tied the final seal.
The mask locked into place.
The world went quiet.
THE RETURN OF THE MARK
When Delta turned back to Ignival, the Primordial stiffened.
The eyes behind the mask glowed — not with rage.
With finality.
"…The God Killer," Ignival breathed.
Delta's voice echoed unnaturally from behind the mask.
"They don't deserve my face anymore."
He raised a hand.
The chains reacted — not binding him…
…but snapping apart.
Every link shattered.
Lyrieth's final restraint undone.
NOCTIS WATCHES THE MASK RETURN
In the void between realms, Noctis felt it.
She smiled sadly.
"So you chose to wear it again…"
Her fingers curled slightly.
"…I hope you remember who you are when the mask comes off."
A WARNING FROM HELL ITSELF
The forge trembled violently.
A deep, ancient voice whispered from far below — older than Hell, older than the forge itself.
"…He has taken the blade…"
"…He has worn the face…"
"…He remembers…"
The Ninth Depth pulsed.
Something very old was now awake.
Delta turned toward the exit.
The saber hummed eagerly.
The mask hid everything but purpose.
"I'm done remembering," he said.
And he stepped back into Hell — no longer a guardian.
But an executioner.