What Was Broken

Zion descended without resistance.

There were no stairs. No tunnels.

Only gravity made of memory.

The Core of the Demon Realm wasn't a place.

It was a wound in reality, pulsing with screams, bargains, and unhealed sorrow.

And Zion saw.

He saw the first demon god's birth.

Not through fire.

But through a refusal to kneel.

Once, they were Lwa.

Once, they bore halos made of prayers and thrones carved by gratitude.

But the first fell not from pride—

But from truth.

He saw that the divine were flawed, that the pantheon lied to preserve order, that balance was built on silent sacrifice.

And so, he spoke.

And for that, they stripped him of name, cast him into darkness…

And he became Wrath Without Worship.

Zion's eyes burned as each demon god's origin unfolded before him.

One betrayed by a sister pantheon.

Another abandoned by their own worshippers.

One who gave too much to save a dying world, and was called unclean when they returned altered.

Another who made a deal to save a lover, only to be twisted when the gods refused to honor it.

Each had a choice.

Each chose to keep their power.

And with every pact they made—good or cruel—they carved deeper into despair.

Zion felt the weight of every soul dragged into the abyss:

Some came willingly, seeking forbidden truths.

Others were deceived.

And some… were just forgotten by the gods.

In the center of the Core, he saw them:

The Chains of the First Lie—

The binding truth that started it all:

"Demons are not born.

They are made—by the judgment of gods,

By the silence of heaven,

And by the desperate bargains of mortals."

And then—

Zion was ripped back.

The Crossroad reformed beneath his feet.

The two doors stood tall once more:

Destroy the divine. Embrace the demonic.

Destroy the demonic. Embrace the divine.

But now, the doors trembled.

Because they felt something…

new.

Zion looked at both.

And he whispered,

"You were never whole.

Not one of you.

You broke each other.

Now you ask me to finish the war you started."

The Crossroad waited.

Not in command.

But in fear.

Because Zion no longer stood as mortal or divine.

He stood as witness.

And judgment was his alone