The blast had faded.
The monstrous portals had been sealed—shattered by force beyond reckoning. The field below no longer resembled a battlefield but a wound in the world itself—charred, cratered, molten at the edges. Smoke curled from every surface, rising in lazy plumes into the blood-orange sky of the pocket dimension.
And in the sky… he hovered.
Motionless.
A silhouette wrapped in stormlight and stillness.
In the grand Colosseum, silence gripped the audience. Not a whisper. Not a cheer. Just eyes—millions—locked on the screen.Holo-cameras strained to focus through the blinding aftermath.
"Wh… What is that…?" someone muttered.
The Monarchs leaned forward—each of them breathless, tense.
Even Emperor Malrik Vortan narrowed his eyes, knuckles white against the armrest.
Kaen sat motionless in his seat, eyes glued to the hologram screen.
Klaus had just done it—dropped the act, erased the disguise, and revealed himself without hesitation.
"…He actually did it," Kaen muttered, eyes wide. "He just… revealed himself? In front of everyone?"
His mouth hung slightly open, trying to process what he was seeing. "Is he insane…?"
Beside him, Varnyx burst into laughter—genuine, booming, and completely unfazed.
Kaen slowly turned, still baffled. "What's so funny, Lord Varnyx?"
Varnyx grinned without taking his eyes off the screen. "Listen to me, lesser," he said, voice rumbling with satisfaction. "In all my years, I have not found anyone more amusing than him… until now."
Kaen blinked, stunned. "He just ruined his entire disguise…"
Varnyx nodded with a glint of pride.
"Because he knows I'll protect him."
Kaen stared forward, processing that.
…Oh "_".
The smoke in the feed began to shift… slow at first, drawn outward by an invisible force.
And then—
Two crimson eyes opened.
Piercing.
Still.
Predatory.
The camera zoomed in, and the crowd gasped as the smoke cleared fully—revealing a face once hidden beneath a false identity.
Golden hair fell like liquid sunlight around his sharp jawline and high cheekbones. His eyes burned with cold, lethal clarity. His expression: unreadable. Not anger. Not peace.
Just purpose.
He was no longer Kane Vire.
He was Klaus Aetherion.
And nothing would ever be the same.
---
Cazren froze.
His breath caught, his hand tightening around the hilt of his twin blades.
That face.
That name.
That power.
"...It's him," Cazren whispered. "Gods. It really is him."
Flashes of the Syndicate's instructions returned all at once.
"If the target known as Klaus Aetherion appears… engage. Assess. Recruit."
"If recruitment fails—"
"...Eradicate."
Cazren swallowed hard, unable to look away.
But the world around Klaus was no longer still.
It moved.
Shifted.
Changed.
The air itself bent around him.
Above him, a vortex of violet lightning churned wildly, taking the shape of something massive—a celestial dragon, coiling through the sky like it had awakened for the first time in eons. Its eyes glowed with the same hue as Klaus's. It let out no roar, yet the thunder shook the clouds as though the world was listening to it breathe.
And below him—
The wind howled, not in chaos but reverence.
It didn't strike or whip.
It took form.
Feathers made of mist.
Wings carved from compressed gales.
A griffin—ancient, regal, spiraling up from the earth to encircle Klaus from beneath, flying in unison with the dragon.
Two beasts of raw elemental essence orbiting a single being.
Their master.
Klaus stood between them, suspended midair.
Energy pulsed through his body, visible beneath his skin like rivers of starlight. His battle suit was torn completely across the torso, exposing a body not built by luxury but by survival—lean, powerful, divine in presence, each scar across his chest a mark of battles fought, and won, without mercy.
His arms hung at his sides, but even in stillness, he radiated command.
Not a king.
Not a warrior.
Something more.
A God.
Cazren stepped back, eyes wide. "That's not a human…"
He shook his head.
"…That's a Fucking Apocalypse."
Smoke coiled around Klaus like ribbons of shadowlight, but it was Cazren who stood trembling.
His chest heaved as he tried to control his breath, eyes darting between Klaus and the spectral lightning dragon coiling mid-air—its glowing violet body drifting toward him, each movement crackling with godlike pressure.
The wind-griffin circled above, forming tornados in its wingbeats.
His voice cracked as he tried to steady his breath. "W-Wait…!"
Klaus raised an eyebrow, face unreadable, his gaze calm but carrying the weight of judgment itself.
"I was sent here… not to fight. Not at first,"Cazren stammered, floating lower but still in the sky, held by his own elemental footing. "I was ordered to find you… Klaus Aetherion."
The wind howled—but only around Klaus. He was the still center of it all.
"The Syndicate… they wanted you. Said you were critical. That someone like you could… tip the scales."
Still no answer.
Just silence.
Crushing. Total. Final.
Then Klaus finally spoke, voice low and absolute.
"No."
Cazren blinked. "I didn't even—"
"Syndicate. Rulers. Authorities.Gods."
Klaus's tone sharpened.
"I don't give a fuck who they are."
And then it happened.
Cazren's face tightened. His breathing steadied, and his hand drifted to a metallic cuff at his wrist. Mid-air, he floated in a combat-ready stance—and unlocked the device.
Hisssssss.
A mist of black-red energy erupted around him. Energy coils, eldritch and alive, wrapped around his limbs.
He pulled out a syringe from the compartment on his hip—its contents pulsing crimson. Without a second thought, he drove it into his own neck.
The transformation began.
Mid-air, his body spasmed—convulsing under the weight of internal mutation. Muscles tore and reknit. Skin cracked and hardened. His spine contorted.
Black armor-like skin split across his chest and limbs. Claws extended. His skull stretched back, mouth parting into rows of serrated teeth.
A tail slithered down beneath him—whipping through the air like a live wire.
The grotesque shape hung there in the sky like a dark omen, a demon reborn.
Cazren was no longer human.
He was a mutated Nexomorph.
---
Back at the Colosseum
The silence cracked.
Screams erupted as the arena crowd watched the scene unfold on the overhead projection screens.
"IS THAT A NEXOMORPH?!"
"No, no, no—they were supposed to be extinct!"
"They sealed those things away during the Ruined Earth era!"
Then—another voice, older, colder:
"Shut up. Don't look away. Watch what happens."
---
Imperial Box - High Balcony
Emperor Malrik didn't move.
His golden eyes were locked on the scene.
Kaleus rose from his seat instantly. "Malrik, we have to stop the games—now!"
Thalor stepped forward, his voice edged with command. "We extract Klaus and the Nexomorph now before this escalates!"
But Malrik… didn't speak.
He just released a breath.
The moment he exhaled—The space around him collapsed inward.
The Monarchs dropped like stone to one knee, crushed by the gravity of his unspoken presence.
Even Kaleus faltered, knees cracking into the stone.
Malrik didn't shout.
He didn't rage.
He simply existed harder than anyone else in that box.
"Enough."
His voice was ice. "Watch."
---
Cazren—now mutated and monstrous—hovered mid-air, his massive clawed feet twitching in place.
And then—
He vanished.
A sonic crack tore the sky apart as he lunged straight at Klaus, the space between them shredded in an instant. His dual claws extended like twin blades of obsidian death, his body stretching unnaturally, every joint a weapon.
Klaus didn't flinch.
The lightning dragon coiled midair—then struck downward, jaws wide, its body roaring with violet light. Thunder detonated across the sky. Cazren was slammed back, twisting mid-flight with unnatural grace, his tail whipping around like a serpent tipped with razors.
CLANG!
Cazren's tail collided with the wind-forged griffin, which met the blow mid-spin.
Feathers made of air pressure and gale-force winds shredded part of the tail's outer shell, but cazren twisted violently,rebounding off the griffin and diving again.
Below them—
The jungle had been reduced to blackened ruin. Lava cracked through the deep gorges Klaus's earlier attack had carved out. Trees were ash.
Mountains in the far distance were breaking apart, their peaks crumbling from the weight of clashing auras alone.
The sky was now split into two storms—on one end, Cazren's growing darkness, oily and writhing.
On the other, Klaus's storm: glowing violet, streaked with wind currents that bent gravity around him.
"RAAAAGH!!"
Cazren roared, releasing a breath attack—a concentrated beam of acidic corruption that spiraled like a vortex of death.
Klaus sliced his hand sideways.
A crescent blade of lightning formed midair and fired straight into the beam, ripping it apart in a burst of purple and green. Then—
Klaus was gone.
He shot forward like a meteor, his body flickering in and out of vision as he moved faster than the sound of his own movements.
He appeared above Cazren, wind vortex spiraling around his leg, then kicked downward—
BOOM!
Cazren cratered into the air itself. The atmosphere around the impact bent, shockwaves radiating outward in layered spheres of pressure. Klaus didn't stop. He flicked his hand—
Ten elemental swords of wind and lightning exploded around Cazren like falling stars, each spiraling with destructive intent.
Cazren roared, arms spinning as he deflected two, three—
But one stabbed clean through his right wing, another pierced his thigh, and a third exploded against his ribs, launching blood in a spiral across the sky.
"HRRAAAAAAHHHHHH!"
Cazren regenerated midair, muscles throbbing, then screamed again—unleashing a wall of black tendrils from his back that spiraled like hydra heads. They snaked toward Klaus.
But Klaus's eyes flared.
The griffin dove with a screech, slicing through one tendril with a wingspan sharp enough to carve reality itself.
The lightning dragon followed, crashing into the rest of the tendrils in a burst of light and static.
CRACK-K-K-BOOOOOOM!
The shockwave broke clouds apart for miles.