Chaos engulfed the Tower of Conviction.
From its base, the Egg of the Perfect World—a grotesque Apostle shaped like a giant embryo—climbed slowly toward the summit. He sensed it: the moment of destiny was near.
Along the way, he found something unexpected. Or perhaps inevitable.
A twisted, demonic fetus—Casca and Guts' cursed child—lay dying in the rubble. The Egg absorbed it into his body, protecting it as he ascended.
Meanwhile, Guts and his party were still trapped in the lower levels. Despite his strength and the Dragonslayer sword, he was slowed by the need to protect his companions. Elliot Gray had vanished. So had the twin warriors in their Dark Gold Saint Cloths.
Elsewhere, the Skull Knight—Jack Harper's last hope—prepared to act. But a towering figure blocked his path.
"Zodd the Immortal," the knight muttered. "If the Hawk summoned you, he's serious about this Eclipse."
Zodd stood over two meters tall, muscles like carved stone. Even without Apostle powers, he could overpower Guts in a fair fight. With them, he rivaled the God Hand.
If Griffith deployed Zodd, it meant this Eclipse could be disrupted. Otherwise, why guard it?
But before the Skull Knight could engage, Zodd turned his gaze. A golden-haired girl in dark armor approached.
Sharp. That was the word both warriors felt.
Flora.
She stepped forward, eyes locked on Zodd. "Go. Stop the Hawk's rebirth. I'll handle this."
She summoned a golden longsword—one of Caelum Vale's twelve Libra weapons—and charged.
Zodd was caught off guard. Her speed was unreal. Her blade pierced his side, shattering his massive cleaver.
Roaring, Zodd transformed—sprouting wings, horns, and towering to six meters. He swung a claw the size of a car.
Flora didn't flinch. She'd hunted awakened beings before. She dodged, countered, and struck again. Her sword wasn't as heavy as her old Claymore, but it was enough.
"Comparable to the Silver-Eyed Lion King," she thought. "Slower, but stronger. Balanced. Mid-Silver tier at full power."
She summoned a second sword. The two blades merged into a massive greatsword—her old weapon reborn. She slung it over her back, gripped the hilt, and charged again.
The Skull Knight didn't look back. He rode toward the tower.
Griffith's defenses weren't limited to Zodd. More Apostles emerged: a four-meter armored giant, a spear-wielding knight, and a blind archer with a sentient bow.
But Elliot Gray had planned for this.
Caelum blocked the giant with twin golden shields. Lilith took on the archer with her radiant bow. Elliot summoned layered alchemy walls to trap the spearman. Evander Marlowe handled the fodder.
Evander had changed.
His hair grew into hardened spikes, burrowing into the earth. They fused with stone, twisted, and rose—forming one-meter puppets with pink hair and doll-like faces.
He clapped his hands. Alchemy arrays flared. The stone puppets transformed into metal-clad battle dolls.
Each was unique—maid outfits, swimsuits, ninja gear, nun robes. Their weapons ranged from rifles and chainsaws to frying pans and flyswatters.
Evander pointed. "Hoihoi—go squash the bugs!"
Thousands of battle dolls swarmed the lesser Apostles.
This was Evander's new power: Puppet Hair.
He'd always sculpted figurines, mixing strands of his own hair into the clay for "spiritual resonance." Elliot knew this. So when Jack traded a Behelit for the "Porcupine Mutant Bloodline" from X-Men—a useless ability that turned body hair into spikes—Elliot saw potential.
After encountering the Egg of the Perfect World, Evander's obsession and sincerity moved the Apostle. The Egg granted him a wish: to animate his creations.
Combined with Elliot's metal alchemy, Evander's Puppet Hair became a force of nature.
Together, the team held off the Apostles, clearing the way for the Skull Knight.
In raw power, Flora and the twins rivaled the knight. But they lacked experience against the God Hand. The Skull Knight's true strength remained hidden. And Elliot believed the four of them could defeat the elite Apostles and claim their Behelits—each one mid to high Silver tier.
Meanwhile, chaos reached its peak.
Refugees, fleeing demons, surged toward the tower. They'd feared it once. Now, they saw it as salvation.
But the gates were sealed.
Knights opened them slowly. The crowd crushed inward—trampling, screaming, clawing for safety. Despair turned to clarity. A single, unified cry rose from the masses.
"God, save us."
"God, save us."
"God, save us."
The Egg sat atop the tower, listening.
The voices merged into one. A desperate, primal plea.
And then—God answered.
A beam of light descended from the tower's middle finger, entering the Egg. It was the Hawk. Griffith's soul.
Inside the Egg, the cursed fetus grew—rapidly. Infant. Child. Teen.
Griffith's soul fused with the body. In seconds, he would be reborn.
"Die, God Hand!"
The Skull Knight burst onto the summit, sword raised. He struck—but a masked figure leapt from the shadows, deflecting the blow.
"Last line of defense?" the knight growled, punching the figure aside.
But the delay was enough.
The Egg cracked.
Griffith's body was complete.
Then—a blade fell from the sky.
"Hellgate!"
Jack Harper descended, Deep Snow Masamune reversed in his grip. The blade pierced the Egg's crack, driving through Griffith's chest and out the front.
It was a perfect strike. Like Sephiroth killing Aerith.
Griffith, caught at his weakest, couldn't dodge. The sword pierced his heart.
But he wasn't Aerith.
Griffith was a god.
The Masamune flared—its runes glowing like suns. It drank his life and soul. More runes appeared, crawling up the blade, accelerating the drain.
Griffith turned, eyes blazing with psychic force. He could shatter mountains with a glance.
Jack was ready.
He touched Griffith's temple.
"Mindless Angel."
A tiny cherub appeared above Griffith's head. Power exploded between them. Jack's hand shattered. Griffith staggered.
Mindless Angel was Sephiroth's technique—reflecting psychic force back at the user. Normally, Jack couldn't match Griffith's mind. But with the Masamune draining his power, they were equal.
The result: mutual destruction.
Jack was blasted away, bones broken. Griffith collapsed, bleeding and disoriented. His power poured into the Masamune, which now glowed with hundreds of runes.
Griffith's energy was planetary. The God Hand had gathered the world's essence into him. Now, it was leaking—like a dam bursting.
Then, four voices thundered across the sky.
"Fate must be fulfilled. Causality cannot be broken!"
From the tower's other fingers, four figures emerged.
A tall man with an exposed brain.
A seductive woman with serpentine hair.
A rotund merchant with a crooked smile.
A floating child with trilobite features.
The other members of the God Hand.
They had come to witness Griffith's rebirth. But Jack's interference forced their hand.
And then—another figure appeared.
From the Masamune's black mist and green light, a man formed.
Silver hair. Cold eyes. Black coat. Five black wings.
Sephiroth.
He was just a spirit. But the Masamune had fed him enough planetary energy to manifest.
He couldn't defeat all five God Hand members. But he could do something else.
He raised his blade. A red gem on the hilt flared.
A beam shot skyward, piercing the clouds.
The sky tore open.
A massive black meteor appeared—larger than mountains.
"Black Magic—Meteorfall."
The God Hand froze.
"This is… a threat beyond causality."
They launched skyward, transforming into white birds. A massive net of light formed between them, stretching hundreds of kilometers. Rivers and mountains poured energy into it, reinforcing the shield.
It was like the ending of Final Fantasy VII—planetary will resisting annihilation.
Jack, coughing blood, laughed. "Didn't think I'd pull a Sephiroth. Black Magic Stone… finally useful."
The stone, earned from defeating Sephiroth in FF7: Advent Children, had been dormant. Now, it summoned a world-ending meteor.
Jack had never intended to destroy the world. The meteor was bait—to draw the God Hand away.
This was Astral Reckoning.
Its first meaning: summoning a star to shift fate.
Its second: changing the battlefield. When the planet's priority became survival, Griffith was no longer its chosen.
Its third: using the planet's own power against it. Borrowed force. Redirection. Celestial judo.
Jack and Elliot never spoke the plan aloud. The planetary will might've reacted—summoning a counterforce, a divine safeguard, a white magic of finality. So they kept it veiled, wrapped in metaphor and myth.
The meteor drew the God Hand away. But it also drained Sephiroth.
Griffith, ever the tactician, seized the moment.
He gripped the Masamune's blade protruding from his chest and shoved it free. The drain stopped.
"You… dared to shatter my dream…"
His face twisted—not with pain, but betrayal. The same look he wore when Guts walked away.
Sephiroth didn't respond. He raised his blade.
"Draw Slash."
A wave of blue steel surged forward, crashing like a tidal storm.
Griffith dodged, white feathers scattering. He was a wounded god, but not a dead one. A healing light enveloped him. His armor reformed—white wings spread wide. He drew a curved saber and charged.
Creation's angel met Destruction's demon.
Their blades clashed, thunderous and blinding. Blue and white arcs carved the sky. The tower crumbled beneath them.
Below, refugees screamed. The tower, once a sanctuary, became a tomb.
Guts acted fast. He saved Casca and Isidro. Puck fluttered free. The Skull Knight rescued Luca and her knight.
Then—a massive ice sphere rolled from the rubble. It cracked open, revealing Farnese, Serpico, Azan, and others. Jack had saved them.
After the Mindless Angel backlash, Jack's body was broken. But the Masamune had absorbed enough life to heal him. Even the old wounds from the Dragon Queen's fists were purged—her spirit overwhelmed by Griffith's.
Jack had learned much. New techniques. New insights into psychic combat.
When the tower collapsed, he froze the air into a hollow sphere, shielding the survivors.
The Skull Knight watched, impressed. But his focus remained on Griffith.
Above, Sephiroth dominated.
His blade danced—fluid, ruthless, precise. Griffith was strong, but Sephiroth was a master. His body, though ephemeral, outmatched Griffith's battered form.
But Jack knew the truth.
Sephiroth's time was short.
The Masamune had spent most of its energy summoning the meteor. Sephiroth had less than a minute.
Griffith knew it too. He stalled, defended, waited.
Sephiroth unleashed "Eightfold Flash," followed by a barrage of black spheres. Griffith dodged, but Sephiroth teleported—closing the gap.
"Mindless Angel!"
Griffith panicked. He dissolved into white feathers.
But Sephiroth was ready.
He drew his final technique.
Supernova – Abyssal Blade.
A crimson fireball bloomed, vast and terrible. It lit the heavens, eclipsing even the meteor.
The feathers burned. Griffith screamed, plummeting. His wings charred. He crashed into the ruins.
Sephiroth smiled at Jack, then dissolved—black mist and feathers fading. The Masamune fell, dim and quiet.
Jack picked it up.
"My turn."
But someone moved faster.
"Griffith!"
Guts charged, Dragonslayer raised like a banner. He swung.
Griffith, bloodied and broken, blocked with his saber.
"You've grown stronger," he said. "But…"
"But what?" Guts roared. "After everything you did—after all the lives you ruined—you still look me in the eye without shame?"
Griffith deflected the blow, slashed Guts' shoulder.
"I never feel shame. I never abandon my dream. You know that better than anyone."
Guts was powerful—mid to high Silver tier—but still outmatched. Griffith's psychic force blasted him away.
The Skull Knight rode in, sword flashing.
"Garsellic the Tyrant," Griffith sneered. "Still clinging to your foolish war against the divine?"
The knight didn't flinch. "Look at yourself, Hawk. You're one step from ruin. When they summoned the meteor, I saw it—the fracture in causality. Today, I'll drag the God Hand from their throne. I'll shatter the false god behind it all."
"Arrogant insect!" Griffith snarled. "You may be strong, but you're still beneath us. That final step you seek—it's a chasm you'll never cross!"
They clashed—blade against blade, fury against fate.
Jack advanced, Masamune in hand. He paused, then lunged—his blade piercing a shadow on the wall.
A masked Apostle screamed, pinned to the stone. The Masamune drained him dry, freezing his body into shards.
Jack joined the fight.
"Before the meteor falls—Griffith, surrender your life!"
His voice rang out.
The final battle had begun.
The adventurers of the Cycle Realm versus the world's chosen tyrant.
The second act of the reckoning.