CHAPTER THREE: WHEN THE GODS ARGUE
The Council Chamber was built to humble even gods.
It rose from the peak of Eden's Central Spire like the heart of a shattered cathedral. Twelve meters tall, it was shaped from black celestial stone.. the kind only found at the collapsed cores of ruined stars. The walls shimmered faintly with trapped starlight, but no warmth radiated from them.
Above, the ceiling bore the ancient seal of the Church: a perfect circle inscribed with wings and a blade. But the seal was broken now, split clean through by a jagged crack from the Rupture. No one had repaired it. They'd left it as a scar, a visible reminder that even heaven had failed them once.
At the center of the room floated a single flame... the Source Spark.. suspended in a cradle of magnetic nullspace, flickering silently with impossible colors. It was ancient, older than memory, rumored to be the last ember stolen from the divine realm before the gates closed forever.
The Observers called it many things: a relic, a warning, a prison.
But no one ever forgot one simple truth about it.
It saw everything.
Tonight, the Council had been summoned without warning.
The first to arrive was Genna Vrae, the Wrathborne.
She entered with her coat slung over one shoulder, the hem tattered and scorched from her latest skirmish beyond the barrier wall. Beneath it, her battle-scarred armor gleamed faintly in the chamber light. She carried no weapon, but she didn't need one... the heat that shimmered around her skin was its own kind of violence.
Her jaw was locked. Her expression unreadable. But the slow flare of her nostrils as she looked around said enough. She hated this room. She hated the games these people played. And most of all, she hated having to rely on Mr. P's genius to hold the world together, because the genius was just madness that hadn't killed anyone yet.
She planted herself at her throne and crossed her arms.
"He's late," she growled.
"He's always late," came a silken voice from the spiral lift.
Sera Velorian, the Glutton of Secrets, descended seated in her throne of psionic driftglass... a weightless construct of blue light and memory. She drifted just above the floor as though gravity didn't dare touch her.
Her skin was pale to the point of translucence, her veins faintly glowing where her blood wasn't quite human anymore. Her eyes, unblinking, sparkled with quiet amusement as she looked around the room, already pretending she knew everything everyone was thinking.
"But then," she added, with a faint smile, "being omnipotently obnoxious must take time."
Genna didn't bother replying.
The next arrival was Callus Greaven, the Slothborne, the Machine Observer.
He came hunched, muttering to himself as he dragged a crate of deactivated drones behind him. His robes were stitched together from scraps of shattered circuit boards and melted Akuma cores, every piece radiating faint static. He scowled at the crate as though it had personally offended him.
"Useless," he hissed to no one. "Still can't get a clean read on his lattice. Encryption nested in encryption. Layers of divine resonance tangled like knots in a child's hair. He's not a weapon, he's a damn question mark for blood sake."
Sera's voice drifted through the air like smoke.
"Aren't we all?"
Then came lustborne ,Yulan Ishtar.. now normally known as Lust due to her unprecedented nature.
The Lustborne didn't so much walk as she did glide, her presence disturbing the light itself. Her red rosey hair floated as though underwater, her robe of shadows clinging and shifting at once. Even Genna, who feared nothing, looked away as Yulan passed, though her jaw tightened faintly.
Yulan never raised her voice. She never needed to.
"I've seen what Luther dreams," she murmured as she sank into her throne.
Genna finally spoke, her voice sharp. "What does that mean?"
Yulan smiled faintly, and something about it chilled the room.
"It means," she said, "he no longer dreams of salvation. He dreams of slaughter."
A ripple passed through the Source Spark.
And then the room changed.
Zero entered.
The Prophet of Ascension appeared in silence, his robe trailing like scripture stained with shadow. His hood was drawn low, his pale gray eyes faintly luminous, unblinking.
He said nothing as he approached his throne ... black crystal carved in the shape of a broken halo... and sat, his hands folding loosely in his lap.
The flame in the center of the chamber guttered as though bowing to him.
And, one by one, the other Observers fell quiet.
Genna bowed her head slightly. Callus straightened in his chair. Sera's eyes narrowed, watching him closely. Yulan's faint smile did not fade.
For a long moment, the room waited.
Then, finally, Zero spoke.
"Where," he asked, voice soft but carrying the weight of command, "is the Architect?"
The side door slammed open with a hiss.
Smoke rolled into the chamber, curling around the thrones.
And then, as though nothing at all were amiss, Mr. P entered wearing a bathrobe, a pair of cracked sunglasses, and a helmet apparently assembled from frying pans duct-taped together.
Two assistants trailed him nervously, one carrying a clipboard, the other clutching a fire extinguisher like a lifeline.
"My apologies," Mr. P said cheerfully, striding to the center of the chamber, "esteemed and gloriously self-important tyrants. I was in the middle of genetically modifying my breakfast cereal."
Genna shot to her feet, heat rising visibly off her shoulders. "You're late Paku."
"No," Mr. P corrected gently, still smiling. "You're simply early in a timeline where punctuality is subjective. And besides, I'm fairly certain I died in the last thirty minutes ... so I brought a backup!"
At his snap, a perfect duplicate of himself stumbled in behind him, waving awkwardly.
Sera groaned audibly.
"Not this again."
Lust didn't bother hiding her disdain. "This one better not try to seduce me again."
"That," Mr. P said with exaggerated dignity, "was one time. I mean.... no harm done right."
Before another word was spoken, Genna's spear ignited in her hand and drove through the chest of the clone.
It disintegrated into ash and static.
Mr. P clapped lightly.
"Feel better now?" he asked.
"A little," Genna admitted.
Zero raised one hand. And the room froze.
"Report," he said.
Mr. P's tone changed in an instant.
Gone was the grinning fool, the endless fountain of sarcasm.
In his place stood a man who had torn the gates of heaven apart, buried his wife with his own hands, and written his guilt into the code of a god.
"Luther is fracturing," he said simply.
Callus squinted. "But not at random, surely."
Mr. P shook his head. "No i mean duh... He's remembering."
The word rippled through the chamber.
"He's starting to see through the narrative I built for him," Mr. P continued. "The hero act. The memory implants. The holy savior fantasy." He glanced up at Zero, his gaze suddenly sharp.
"All of it."
Genna scowled. "You said those memories were buried."
"They are," Mr. P said. "But divinity doesn't obey encryption doesnt it?"
Sera leaned forward slightly, her voice low and measured. "And what does that mean for Project L?"
Mr. P allowed himself the faintest ghost of a smile.
"It means," he said, "the script is shifting."
For the first time, Zero's fingers twitched faintly. Almost imperceptibly. But Mr. P caught it.
"You knew," Mr. P murmured, his voice almost admiring. "You foresaw this."
Zero's eyes did not leave him.
"I let it happen," he said.
The chamber tensed.
Mr. P tilted his head slightly, his smile fading.
"You want him to break," he said softly.
Zero's words followed a beat later, quiet as falling ash.
"Because only in breaking," he said, "can he make a choice."
A silence settled, heavy as stone.
Then, from the shadow of one of the great pillars, another voice cut through the stillness.
"You're both liars."
All heads turned as Rei Kagami stepped into the light, his silhouette shifting faintly, his presence sharper than any blade.
"You play games with gods and children," Rei said, his voice cold. "But neither of you has ever cared what Luther wanted."
Genna stood instantly, flames licking at her arms. "You shouldn't even be here, shadow."
But Rei ignored her.
His eyes stayed locked on Mr. P.
"You killed Naomi, Didn't you" he said.
The words hung in the air like judgment.
"And you built Luther to kill your old past mistakes."
Mr. P did not deny it.
"You say you want to save Elian," Rei continued, his voice rising, "but all you've done is build a weapon in the shape of your guilt. And now that weapon is slipping your leash."
Mr. P stood very still. His expression was hollow now, and infinitely tired.
"I made a mistake," he said at last. His gaze flicked to Zero.
"But so did he."
Zero's silence was somehow louder than any answer.
And in that silence was something worse than denial.
It was knowing.
The Source Spark flared suddenly, brighter than it had in centuries, casting long, sharp shadows across the chamber.
Far below, outside the walls of the city, the barrier flickered faintly, like a heartbeat skipping in the dark.
And in Luther's room, alone, staring at nothing, a single mirror.. one that had never been there before... cracked.
A hairline fracture, running through its center.
Like the beginning of something that could not be stopped.
...
END OF CHAPTER THREE