Still in that moment, Kael remained standing—his posture straight, yet as if nailed in place by an invisible weight. His right hand clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white, as though restraining something boiling deep within him.
"This rage… it pierces straight through my chest," he murmured—soft, yet sharp.
He could feel it—the same burning pulse as the red door's aura. Anger, suffering, chaos, loss, even hatred that never ceased to beat, as if all of it were trying to devour his heart whole.
His breath left him slowly, deep and heavy. Then his gaze—once dim—sharpened. No longer the fragile wall that had crumbled when he faced his mother, but the eyes of a man beginning to accept his deepest wounds, forging them into embers of resolve—an Assassin who knew no fear.
Kael began to move.
One step.
CLACK.
The sound echoed—rigid, yet certain. Each step felt like a knock upon the surface of the world itself.
Second step.
CLACK.
Black water pooled across the empty floor, reflecting his faintly trembling silhouette. He remembered this place—Limbus Reveria. Yet now it was different. There was no beautiful sky above, no other doors calling out to him. Only a suffocating void… and one final door standing before him, glowing like a wound that refused to close.
Third step.
CLACK.
He did not stop. He drew a brief breath, then spoke.
"I know who I am… I know I'm empty… and I know I should have died. But what I never knew… was how all of that happened."
"My greatest question is… why I'm still standing here now."
Kael's voice was low, but steady. His words spiraled through the hollow space, echoing before fading, as if the room itself were listening.
His steps grew surer. There was no trace of hesitation.
"Maybe… I've lost many memories," he continued quietly, his brow knitting. "But every time I see… hear… or feel something that once existed in my life—little by little, I remember. Even if it makes my body tremble, even if it hurts, as though it's tearing me apart from the inside."
Kael fell silent for a moment, his shoulders rising and falling as he held back a heavy breath. His fingers trembled briefly—then clenched again.
"Mother… and Father. They never truly left. They were always trying to remind me… it wasn't me who chose to forget them."
His gaze locked onto the door. Its red aura flared wildly, like whispering flames. He was already so close—twenty-four steps that had felt like a long journey through the labyrinth of his own mind.
"This world of sin and trial… was made to force me to see the truth. Piece by piece, as if everything had been arranged to break me down—and rebuild me."
"If this is how the new world judges me… then I'll come and conquer every trial you place before me."
He stopped right in front of the door. There was no handle. No seam to open it. Only blood-red mist rolling endlessly, rigid demonic hands frozen in place, as though waiting to drag him inside.
Kael leaned closer, the crimson light reflecting in his eyes. He whispered—softly, yet trembling with resolve.
"If what Mother said is true… that someone is waiting for me beyond this door… then perhaps this is the time to learn the final truth, even if I must bear the deepest hatred of all."
"…about the reality… of who saved me from death."
His steps halted before the red door. Both feet shifted a fraction closer—hesitant, yet never retreating. His fingers slowly extended, trembling faintly, as if about to touch a surface with no handle—a door that resembled a living wall of blood.
Silence reigned. Only Kael's heartbeat thundered in his chest, racing against the hiss of the red aura coiling around the door, like hungry flames awaiting their prey.
But just as his fingertips were about to cross the boundary—something moved.
The red hands that had been frozen like statues suddenly writhed to life, shaking violently, clawing at the air as if trying to seize Kael and drag him inside.
Yet that was not what stole his breath.
At the same instant, from within the door, a blood-red chain shot forth—thrust like a spear—then wrapped around his neck with impossible speed.
"Ugh—what the—?! Khh…!"
His face tightened, veins bulging at his temples, his breathing breaking apart.
The chain constricted viciously, its heat like infernal embers scorching his skin. Kael instinctively grabbed it with both hands, struggling to tear himself free.
But the tighter he gripped it, the more his palms burned, seared by the crimson fire coursing through every link.
Then—from beyond the door—a voice rang out. Not born of humanity, but something like the echo of a fallen angel—sharp, thunderous, terrifying, yet unmistakably clear, like an inescapable summons.
"Get over here!"
That scream struck like a command torn straight from his soul. In that instant, the chain yanked Kael forward. There was no time to resist, no time to think—his body was ripped apart and swallowed by the vortex of the red door.
—
Darkness surged in for a fraction of a second—then vanished.
What greeted him was not a world, but something like a white chamber—too white, too silent, too boundless—a vast emptiness filled only with countless red cubes drifting aimlessly through the air.
There were no walls to confine it, no sky to shelter it; only absolute silence—oppressive and cruel—as if he had been cast into a void that rejected all life.
GBRAKK!
Kael's body slammed into the hard floor, the impact echoing long and hollow through the emptiness.
He collapsed forward, both elbows buckling to catch his weight, his face twisting as pain surged through his throat, still burning from the chokehold.
His breathing came in ragged gasps, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
"Khahh… uhh…"
Before he could lift his head, the sound of approaching footsteps reached him. Heavy, measured boots struck the white floor—then stopped right in front of him.
A pair of polished black shoes, long-toed and gleaming, stood inches from his face. From above, a voice descended—cold, mocking, and certain.
"Took you long enough…"
The tone hit like a slap. Kael froze, his eyes widening.
"You really are… weak. Pathetic. Worthless." The words cut through him, sharp and heavy, slicing at his dignity.
With what little strength he had left, Kael raised his head, trying to see the one speaking—
BRUKK!
A brutal impact crashed down.
The man stomped on his head, as if grinding his skull into the cold floor. The pressure twisted his neck, forcing his face down, his teeth chattering as pain drove deep into his bones.
"Ahh…" the man exhaled softly, almost savoring it. "This feeling… exquisite. Stepping on a doll that thinks it's human."
Kael struggled, his hands trembling as he pushed against the foot with all his strength. But it didn't budge, as if a thousand stones pressed down on him.
"No, no. It won't be that easy."
"Damn it!"
"You're always like this," the voice chuckled. "Always trying to get back up… even when you already know the outcome."
"So let's make this quick," it continued coldly. "Kael, why don't you stop pretending?"
The man leaned closer, his voice dropping—filthy, intimate.
"Or are you more comfortable as my little pet? A dog that finally understands one thing: you exist only to be stepped on."
Kael fell silent.
Not in surrender—but like embers crushed under pressure, seething, swelling, ready to erupt. His jaw tightened, his brows drew low, refusing to accept it.
A low hiss slipped through his clenched teeth.
"Turning me… into your pet dog? Don't make me laugh…!!"
The marks of the red chain still burned across his neck and hands, searing like fire-carved wounds.
With everything he had left, Kael pressed his palms against the white floor, forcing his body upward—even if only slightly.
For a brief instant, the foot lifted a centimeter—then slammed back down.
"I told you. Dogs… are not allowed to resist." The voice was cold, stripped of all mercy.
The foot rose again—not to release, but to deepen the pain.
GRUKK!
It crashed down onto his head.
"Puppets are nothing more than living frames," the voice spat. "Test materials. Nothing else!"
GRUKK!
The stomp fell again.
"Remember that!"
Kael was driven deeper into the floor, his face crushed against the cold surface. Blood threatened to burst from his nose and ears—yet his eyes, blurred as they were, still burned with defiance.
Then, slowly, the man bent down—not in haste, but with a calm that only deepened the humiliation.
His left hand rose and clamped around Kael's chin. Black leather–gloved fingers dug into his jaw, biting into bone, forcing his face upward. There was no room to turn away.
Kael let out a low groan. Yet his gaze remained lit—sharp, searing—embers of rage that refused to be extinguished.
"You…"
Before him, the black-robed figure leaned low—yet remained higher, dominant. His posture was composed, almost elegant. A long-beaked mask of pitch darkness concealed his face, two crimson lenses glowing beneath it, unblinking.
Not human eyes—but living embers. Cold, aware, judging.
Kael's breath quickened. His jaw tightened under the pressure of those fingers.
"Impossible…" he muttered, his voice weighed down by rising thoughts. "…you too?"
The figure said nothing.
Stillness settled between them, heavy and deliberate—as if allowing time for Kael's reflection to etch itself behind those red lenses. Every fracture. Every hatred. Every denial.
Then his voice came.
Soft. Heavy. Echoing—like it rose from within Kael himself.
"…I am you."
A slight tilt of the head.
"You may call me… Noxis."
A brief pause.
"The poison of the world."
Kael exhaled sharply. His breath remained heavy—not from shock, but from a truth beginning to take shape on its own.
"So… there really is another version of me," he muttered. "Then… the one before—"
"Yes." The interruption was immediate. Cold.
"The one before was merely the shadow of your malice," Noxis continued evenly. "The impulse to drown the world in absolute chaos."
He leaned closer, his voice lowering—thin, precise, like a blade drawn slowly across skin.
"But I—I am the anger you buried."
The grip on Kael's chin tightened.
"The hatred you locked away."
"The friend you lost because of your own selfishness."
"The deaths you caused."
"And the betrayal that broke you."
Each word struck like a nail, driven in one by one.
"All the rage you chose to forget…" Noxis whispered. "…that is my form."
Kael fell silent. His face hardened. Anger and fear collided, tearing through his chest.
"Bullshit!" he snapped. "You wouldn't understand any of it—not even once!"
Noxis let out a soft chuckle, the rasp slipping into Kael's ears like venom.
"Ohohoh…"
"How beautiful—your denial."
He straightened slightly, looking down through those steady crimson lenses.
"Then answer me, Kael," he said—gentle, cruel. "Why is your heart beating so fast?"
"Why does your body tremble every time you look at me?"
A red chain formed in his right hand. He snapped it against the floor—it hissed like an iron serpent, scattering crimson sparks into the empty air.
"You already know the answer," Noxis said calmly. "Because I… am who you truly are."
He stepped forward.
"Go on. Deny it," he said. "Because every step you take toward the truth… will always lead you back to me."
A pause.
"And I… will not let you run from yourself."
Kael ground his teeth. With what strength remained, he knocked the hand from his chin and staggered back several steps, forcing distance between them. His breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling—but his eyes had hardened, no longer afraid.
"If you really are me…" Kael's voice trembled, yet rang clear.
"…then I'll destroy you with my own hands."
His fist clenched.
"Here. Now!"
***