Nero braced himself for the worst!

For Lyon's head to implode and turn into mush. Or even worse, for the doctor to be consumed by madness, as only a horrible fate awaited those who looked upon that thing's form.

But much to his surprise, catastrophe did not befall the doctor.

Instead, Nero watched in amazement as the whites of Lyon's eyes began to change. They darkened, shifting from white to black, until they were the color of the deepest abyss. Like staring into endless voids where light goes to die.

Nero took a step back in fear, his instincts screaming at him to run away, telling him that what he was bearing witness to was very unnatural.

"I see... So that's the cause."

His eyes returned to normal in an instant, the black draining away. He turned to Nero, and the grim smile had returned to his face.

"This would have been a very bad predicament for you. Luckily, I am here. You can thank me later."

Nero almost breathed a sigh of relief. What he had just seen was beyond scary. However, he was sure this was the Lyon he knew.

Then he grimaced,

"But what can we even do? I don't understand—"

Lyon cut him off,

"I thought I told you to save the questions..."

Then he chuckled and said something rather cryptic, his voice carrying an edge that was almost amused but also deeply, fundamentally serious.

"Don't worry too much. This thing is merely a memory's afterthought. Not even worthy of being called a shadow. I've dealt with far worse."

The casual way he said it made Nero's skin crawl. Far worse? What could possibly be worse than a Gryghori's lingering soul?

Lyon paused for a moment, then stared deeply at Nero, his expression becoming focused.

"Get going, kid. Get to the bell tower. You'll find an exit there."

Nero nodded, but then paused, a flicker of concern breaking through his fear and confusion.

"What about you?" he asked.

Lyon snorted, and for a moment, the familiar sardonic expression returned to his face.

"Of course, I'm going to fight the damn thing. How else are you going to run?"

Before Nero could respond or protest, Lyon moved.

He shot into the air faster than Nero's eyes could follow.

One moment he was standing on the street, the next, he was gone, launched upward with such force that a massive gust of wind exploded outward from where he had been standing. The shockwave hit Nero like a physical blow, nearly knocking him off his feet.

"What is the seven Hells?!"

Debris scattered across the street. The air itself seemed to crack from the sudden displacement.

And then, a moment later, a terrible, world-shaking shriek came from the sky.

It was the entity's voice— a sound so vast and alien that Nero's ears began to bleed immediately just from hearing it. The noise traveled through air, resonating through the ground and through the buildings, rattling Nero's bones, teeth and skull.

The ground began to rumble violently, shaking so hard that cracks spiderwebbed across the cobblestones. Buildings swayed, wooden beams shattered, and metal door frames bent out of shape.

And from all over the city came answering cries of the Thralls, no longer frozen, responding to their master's distress with screeches of their own.

Nero gritted his teeth, his hands clenched around Gungnir's shaft so tightly his knuckles turned white.

He had maybe seconds to make his decision.

The consideration lasted only a split second.

Lyon had come here to save him. The least Nero could do was not waste that sacrifice by standing around like an idiot.

He began dashing toward the light node in his mind, which was exactly the location of the eastern bell tower Lyon had mentioned. His feet pounded against the trembling ground, carrying him forward with desperate speed.

Almost immediately, he felt that the gaze of the being was now taken off of him, its attention completely consumed by the new threat that had dared to challenge it directly.

The relief was almost overwhelming.

Unable to resist any further, Nero took a small peek at the sky as he ran.

Instantly, he saw a scene right out of legend.

The dark sky seemed to be fractured into innumerable pieces, like a dome of black glass that had been struck with a hammer. Enormous burning balls of flame were streaking across the heavens, leaving trails of light that persisted for seconds before fading. They moved in impossible trajectories, curving and looping and splitting apart into smaller meteors.

Thousands of nets of lightning cut arcs across reality itself, warping and bending everything they touched. The bolts weren't simple straight lines—they branched and fractured and wove together into magnificent patterns that filled the soul with awe.

It was as though the world was ending.

The apocalypse made manifest.

Nero found himself captivated by the scene, so much so that his feet stopped moving for a moment. He stood there in the middle of the street, staring upward with a vacant experience, watching destruction on a scale he had never imagined.

It was beautiful.

It was harrowing.

It was the might of a true Templar.

He gritted his teeth and tore his gaze away, forcing himself to continue running toward his only escape.

He couldn't afford to be distracted. He couldn't waste the opportunity Lyon had given him.

As he ran, he encountered more Thralls emerging from buildings and alleyways. They were no longer frozen in worship.

Nero cut them down brutally as he ran, not slowing his pace, Gungnir whirling in precise arcs that slashed open flesh and pierced hearts. Black blood sprayed across his clothes and face, but he didn't care.

The bell tower grew larger ahead of him, its silhouette dark against the fractured sky.

Finally, gasping for breath, his muscles burning with exertion, Nero arrived at the foot of the eastern bell tower.

He looked up at the structure, then back at the sky.

The exit was close.

But first, he had to face whatever Guardian waited inside.

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