The silence that followed the Giga Full Counter was heavier than the explosion itself.

The plaza, once a bustling center of commerce, was now a crater of glassified stone. The air smelled of ozone and sulfur.

The Bone Dragon, a construct that had terrified the capital only moments ago, was gone.

It hadn't just been defeated; it had been erased, reduced to shimmering particles of light drifting in the wind.

Inside the Titan's cockpit, the red warning lights were finally dimming, but the heat remained.

"Cough!"

Damien doubled over, his hands trembling as he released the control spheres. A puff of black smoke escaped the vents of his mask.

His chest felt like it had been hammered by an anvil. The Giga Full Counter hadn't just drained his Core; it had siphoned his own stamina to stabilize the output.

'Warning: Suit integrity at 12%. Shadow Core entering hibernation mode. Estimated recharge time: 6 hours.'

"Six hours without the suit," Damien wheezed, wiping soot from his visor. "If I don't leave in the next two minutes, I'm dead."

He looked at the external monitor. The civilians were starting to rise from their crouched positions, staring at the Steam Titan with eyes wide with religious awe. But Damien's attention wasn't on them.

It was on a small, broken figure crawling near the epicentre of the blast.

The Lead Twilight Cultist.

His robes were shredded, revealing skin burned by mana recoil. His mask was gone, exposing a face twisted in pain and manic delight.

He was dragging himself toward the severed, smoking horn of the Bone Dragon.

Damien narrowed his eyes. 'He survived that? No... the dragon protected the summoner at the cost of itself, but why is he smiling?'

Hephaestus needed to end this. Now.

The Titan took a thunderous step forward. The ground shook, snapping the civilians out of their trance.

"You linger," the Titan's amplified voice boomed, deep and mechanical, vibrating through the plaza. "Your god is dead. Your beast is dust. Stay down."

The Cultist froze. He coughed, spraying blood onto the glass ground, and forced himself up to his knees.

He looked up at the towering metal giant, his eyes gleaming with fanaticism.

"Dead?" The Cultist's voice was raspy, but in the dead silence of the capital, it carried like a curse. "You think you stopped it? You fool... you merely fed into our plans!"

"Explain," Hephaestus demanded, the Titan's arm raising, the wrist-cannon whirring as it locked onto the man.

The Cultist spread his arms wide, laughing wheezily.

"The mana released by your 'Counter'... the sheer density of it... did you think the Void cares for morality? It craves power. You didn't destroy the bridge, Iron Man. You overloaded it. You turned this city into a Beacon."

Damien's heart skipped a beat. 'A Beacon?'

The Cultist pointed a shaking, charred finger at the sky.

"The Oracle of Light was destined to descend this year, was she not? To warn of the return?" The Cultist grinned, his teeth stained red.

"We have accelerated the timeline. The Void has tasted your strength, and it has sent the signal deep into the abyss. The First Pillar stirs."

The Cultist's voice dropped to a revered whisper.

"Azazel answers the call."

Inside the cockpit, Damien went rigid. The name hit him harder than any physical blow.

'Azazel?'

Damien's mind raced back to the original novel.

Azazel, the Demon King of Destruction!

The monster who slaughtered the seven Dragon Ancestors and drove the Gods themselves from the heavens.

In the original story, he wasn't just a boss; he was the End. He was the one who fought Alaric amidst the ruins of a dead world, laughing as the planet burned.

This year... 2025... this was indeed the year the Goddess of Light descended to give the Great Oracle.

The Oracle that warned of the Revival of Demons and the demon lord Azazel.

But for him to be summoned now?

Damien's eyes widened behind his visor. The Void Demon God marked my father, and now his cult is calling forth the Demon King Azazel.

They aren't separate threats. The Void is opening the door, and the Demon King is marching through.

If Azazel was being summoned now, the difficulty of the world had just spiked from 'Hard' to 'Hell'.

"You insane lunatic," Damien muttered. "You're trying to start the Apocalypse so early."

"If that happens, how would the protagonist, who is still a baby, be any help!?"

The Cultist laughed, a high-pitched, broken sound. "He comes! The Demon Lord of the Void comes—"

STOMP.

The Titan's foot slammed down inches from the Cultist, the shockwave knocking the breath out of him and silencing the chant.

At the edge of the plaza, the sound of armored boots clattered against stone. The Royal Guard had finally arrived.

Hundreds of soldiers in silver armor poured into the square, spears trembling, eyes darting between the smoking crater, the laughing madman, and the towering Steam Titan.

They hesitated. They didn't know who to fight.

Damien saw the hesitation. He saw the vacuum of power. If he let the King arrive now, Durin would take credit for the capture. Hephaestus needed to be the one giving orders.

The Titan turned its head, the green mono-eye glowing fiercely as it stared down the Captain of the Guard.

"ROYAL GUARD!"

The voice was a command, not a request. It held the weight of a General.

"Secure this trash! Bind him with Mana-Null cuffs immediately! If he speaks another word of heresy, cut out his tongue!"

The sheer authority in the mechanical voice overrode their confusion. It wasn't a vigilante yelling; it was a superior officer giving a directive.

"Y-Yes!" The Captain stammered, instinctively saluting. He waved his sword forward. "Move! You heard the Titan! Secure the target! Gag him!"

A dozen soldiers swarmed the Cultist, tackling him to the glassified pavement.

They slapped heavy iron cuffs on his wrists and shoved a gag into his mouth, silencing his laughter just as the sky began to vibrate.

Thrum... Thrum... Thrum...

Huge shadows passed over the plaza. Damien looked up.

Three Royal Airships, emblazoned with the crest of the Golden Lion, broke through the smoke clouds.

They descended slowly, their mana-cannons charged and pointed directly at Hephaestus.

The flagship landed with a heavy thud fifty meters away. The ramp lowered, and King Durin stepped out.

He was flanked by his elite Red Knights, his cape billowing in the wind. He looked at the destroyed Bone Dragon, then at the bound Cultist, and finally, his gaze locked onto the battered Steam Titan.

The King stepped forward, his voice projected by magic.

"Construct!" King Durin bellowed. "I am King Durin the Sixth. Identify yourself and power down your weapon. You are in the presence of Royalty."

The soldiers froze. The civilians held their breath. It was the King vs. The Savior.

Inside the cockpit, Damien smiled. His work here was done. The seed of fear regarding Azazel had been planted in his mind, but for the world, Hephaestus was the hero.

He flipped a switch on his belt.

"I am merely a smith who hates poor craftsmanship," Hephaestus replied, his voice calm. "The city is safe, Your Majesty. Try to keep it that way."

"Wait!" King Durin shouted, sensing the Titan was about to move. "Do not—"

Damien pressed the button.

HISS.

From the Titan's heels, four canisters ejected. They detonated instantly, releasing a massive cloud of dense, alchemical white smoke.

It expanded rapidly, swallowing the Titan, the crater, and the front line of the Royal Guard in a thick, opaque fog.

"Hold fire! Do not fire blindly!" The King roared.

By the time the wind mages cleared the smoke thirty seconds later, the plaza was empty.

The Steam Titan was gone.

And more importantly, it's pilot Zero was no where to be found.

Only the bound Cultist remained, eyes wide with madness, and the lingering whisper of a name that would soon haunt the nightmares of the world.

Azazel!

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