The Second Choice

Zion stood in a place where no sky existed, where time dared not breathe.

The path he had forged—the Path Between—no longer led forward.

Instead, it split again, but this time, not into ascent or descent.

It split into obliteration.

Before him stood two thrones, one of bone, the other of lightless fire.

Above the first: the echo of every Lwa, every pantheon, every prayer ever answered.

Above the second: the hunger of every demon, every fallen god, every curse ever whispered.

Ginen did not speak this time.

Something older did.

"You have chosen balance. But balance is not peace—it is war.

You must now decide what remains."

And so, the two final choices were offered to him:

Destroy every Lwa, every god, every divine being—and become the Crown of the Demonic, the source of unbound truth and consuming freedom.

Destroy every demon, every corrupted echo, every fallen flame—and become the Heart of the Divine, the unshakable foundation of order, justice, and purpose.

There was no third door this time.

Only power.

And cost.

Zion did not move.

He looked into the bone throne—saw Ogou's fury, Ayizan's wisdom, Legba's laughter, Erzulie's love—and their weight on his people.

Then into the flame throne—saw Duthak's cunning, the demon gods' pain, the chains they shattered, the chaos they cherished—and the fear they bred.

And deep in his marrow, Ginen whispered—not as a voice, but as the truth of all things:

"One must fall…

So something greater may rise."

Ayola, now fused to the Chair of Legba, saw it all.

Felt it all.

And trembled.

Because she knew:

Whatever Zion chose…

None of them—god, demon, or mortal—would remain untouched.

But Zion, even surrounded by oblivion, closed his eyes.

Not in fear.

But in clarity.

And he whispered,

"Let me see what lies beyond both."