Malakov's Core Chamber
The silence was absolute.
Dust drifted down like falling ash. Sparks crackled from broken panels. The smell of blood, smoke, and burnt metal filled the vast room.
Malakov stayed on his knees, panting, eyes wide. His enhanced heart thundered against his ribs, every pulse rattling his bones. He didn't dare move. The pressure in the room was too heavy. It felt like gravity itself had thickened to syrup, dragging everything down.
And then he saw him.
Footsteps echoed through the dark smoke. Calm. Slow. Unhurried.
A figure stepped into the chamber from the shattered doorway Lucifer had once walked through. At first, only his outline was visible—a tall man, bare feet stepping across broken steel and glass as if it were moss. The flickering emergency lights revealed him in pieces. Pale skin. Black hair that fell just past his jaw, framing a face too sharp to be human but too human to be monstrous.
