High Councilman Aamon stood amidst the falling glitter of his shattered masterpiece. His pristine white armour hissed violently, venting clouds of superheated steam as his Cool Down phase peaked. The air around him shimmered, distorted by the thermal exhaust of a man who had tried to move faster than physics allowed.
He looked at Kuro. The Tiger Beastman’s possessed arm was smoking, the violet energy fading, but Kuro didn't look drained. He looked fed.
"How?" Aamon whispered, his voice trembling with a rage that cracked his polished facade. "You are an Abyss Tier mongrel. How did you generate enough force to break Divine Geometry?"
Kuro spat a glob of blood onto the white stage. It sizzled on the hot stone.
"I didn't generate it," Kuro growled, pointing his blade at Aamon. "I borrowed it from you."
"Me?"
"Devil Vessels don't just eat mana," Kuro grinned, his teeth sharp and yellow against the grey dust. "We eat Karma. Specifically, the dark kind."
Kuro gestured to the plaza with his blade. "You built this school to harvest children. You plotted to bomb the innocent. You just tried to erase fifty thousand students. The air here stinks of your guilt, Councilman."
The air around Kuro shimmered with a dark, oily miasma—the invisible weight of Aamon's sins made manifest.
"And that guilt is my fuel! I didn't break your prism. Your own sins did!"
Aamon’s face twisted. The Logic was sound. The Illogic was terrifying.
"My actions... are for the Greater Good!" Aamon screamed, his voice cracking. "I am the Light! I am the Order!"
He snapped. The steam venting from his armour stopped abruptly. He didn't cool down. He forced the heat back inside.
"If the world judges me," Aamon’s voice became a chorus of thousands, vibrating the very bones of the students watching, "Then I will ascend beyond judgment."
He threw his arms wide.
"Contract: God of Light." "Divine Possession: Three-Point Ascension (Head, Right Arm, Left Arm)."
BOOM.
A pillar of golden light slammed into the stage, vaporising the debris instantly. The shockwave knocked the Illogical Club back, tumbling them across the concrete.
Lack had to dig his Atlas Frame's claws into the ground to stay upright, the metal screeching as he was dragged backward.
When the light faded, Aamon was gone. In his place stood an Avatar.
His head was no longer human; it was a floating star of pure brilliance, faceless and terrifying. His arms were gone, replaced by massive wings of hard-light that acted as blades. His torso was wrapped in armour of bright brilliance. Only his legs remained human, anchoring the god to the mortal plane.
[System Warning: Divine Presence Detected.] [Tier: Pseudo-Cosmic (Possessed).] [Status: Invincible.]
Run, the Light Devil whispered, his voice devoid of its usual humour. Lack, run. We can't fight a 4-Point Possession. He’s not a wizard anymore. He’s a natural disaster.
Aamon—or the thing wearing Aamon—floated upward.
"Judgment."
The voice didn't come from a mouth. It came from the sky itself.
He swung his right wing-arm. A wave of light—not a laser, but a Tidal Wave of Photons—swept across the plaza.
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"Shields up!" Volt screamed. He, Rian, and Terra raised a triple-layered barrier of Lightning, Ice, and Wood.
The wave hit it. The barrier didn't break; it evaporated. The Elites were blasted backward, their uniforms smoking. Mina and Torin were thrown into the crowd like ragdolls.
"He's too strong!" Serra cried, trying to reduce the friction of the air to speed up their retreat. "We can't scratch him!"
Lack looked up at the floating God. The Light Devil was right. They couldn't kill him. Aamon in this form was effectively a star.
But stars have a weakness. Gravity.
"We don't need to kill him." The tactical absolute locked into place. The structural map of the mana flow illuminated across the concrete floor. "We just need to put him in the trash."
"Illogical Club!" Lack roared over the comms. "Ignore the God! Target the floor!"
"The floor?" Ratchet asked.
"He's floating!" Lack shouted, pointing at Aamon’s human legs dangling above the stage. "But he's anchoring his mana to the Ley Line beneath the stage! Break the connection! Drop him!"
Aamon raised his left wing. He was preparing a second wave, one that would wipe the plaza clean.
"Do it now!" Lack commanded.
"Kuro! Ground Smash!"
Kuro roared, channelling the remaining Negative Karma in the air. He slammed his fist into the centre of the stage.
CRACK.
A massive fissure opened in the concrete.
"Rian! Expand the Crack!"
"Executor Art: Frost Wedge!"
Rian fired a spike of ice into the fissure. The water expanded as it froze, forcing the crack wider with hydraulic force.
"Volt! Fry the Rebar!"
"Executor Art: Induction Heat!"
Volt blasted the exposed steel beams with high-voltage current. The metal glowed white-hot, losing its structural integrity instantly.
Aamon looked down, his star-face impassive. "You attack the dirt? Pathetic." He aimed his wing at them.
"Not the dirt," Lack whispered, crouching low. The Atlas Frame hissed, the hydraulic pistons compressing to their limit. "The Foundation."
Lack jumped.
Ignoring Aamon entirely, Lack vaulted high into the air above the floating God. He activated the Flashlight on his gauntlet. He synced with Kip (Echo).
"Mixture Art: Resonance Hammer." "Atlas Frame: Maximum Impact."
Lack fell. He didn't hit Aamon. He hit the Main Support Pillar exposed by Kuro’s smash.
BOOM.
Lack delivered a concentrated vibration frequency directly into the University’s structural spine. The vibration travelled down the pillar, shattering the concrete, snapping the rebar, and destabilising the bedrock.
The entire stage—a massive slab of stone and steel weighing tonnes—groaned. Then, it gave way.
Aamon paused. "What?"
The ground beneath the "floating" God collapsed. Aamon was hovering, yes. But his anchor—the mana connection to the surface—was severed.
Gravity—the one law even Light must obey—grabbed him.
"No!" Aamon shrieked as the stage fell away beneath him, creating a vacuum that sucked him down. The massive sinkhole opened up, revealing the dark, churning sludge of the Sewers below.
"Flush him!" Lack shouted.
The Illogical Club combined their attacks one last time. A blast of Wind, Water, and Fire slammed into Aamon from above, pushing the God of Light down into the darkness.
Aamon fell. The shining star, the Arbiter of Dawn, plummeted into the waste disposal sector.
SPLASH.
The light went out.
Silence returned to the plaza. The students stared at the gaping hole where their Councilman used to be.
Lack landed on the edge of the pit, his suit venting heat into the cool spring air. He looked at the camera drone still hovering nearby.
"Class dismissed," Lack rasped.
? ? ?
The Deep Sewers (Beneath Sector 98) Time: 5 Minutes Later
Aamon lay in the sludge. His Divine Possession had cancelled abruptly. The shock of the fall and the severance from the Ley Line had broken the contract.
He was back in his human form. His white robes were soaked in filth. His hair was matted with slime.
"I am... a God..." Aamon wheezed, trying to stand. "I... cannot... end like this..."
He looked up at the circle of light far above him. The roar of the students cheering echoed down from the circle of light far above. They weren't cheering for him.
"You look terrible, Councilman."
Aamon froze. He turned around.
Standing in the shadows of the sewer tunnel were three figures. They wore cloaks that seemed to be woven from the void itself.
In the centre was Jareth (The Silent Shadow). To his left was the Mastermind (The Pale Whisper). And to his right... was a massive, hulking figure in heavy armour. General Gorm.
"You..." Aamon gasped. "You are the Dreallytear. Help me! I can still open the gate! I can still—"
"You had your chance," the Mastermind whispered. His voice sounded like paper tearing. "You tried to make a God. You made a mess."
Jareth stepped forward, holding a familiar Golden Vial.
"You failed to harvest the Moon," Jareth smiled beneath his mask. "But we can't let a good Divine Soul go to waste."
Gorm stepped forward and grabbed Aamon by the throat. Aamon tried to use his Light, but in the darkness of the sewers, with his spirit broken, he flickered like a dying candle.
"The script has changed," the Mastermind said. "The Glitch has accelerated the timeline. We no longer need a puppet."
He looked up at the light above. "We need a War."
Gorm squeezed.
CRACK.
High Councilman Aamon went limp. Jareth uncorked the vial and held it to Aamon’s nose. A stream of golden light—Aamon's Divine Soul—flowed out of the corpse and into the bottle, swirling like liquid sunlight.
"One down," Jareth whispered, corking the vial. "Six to go."
? ? ?
[System Record: Character Progression]
- Boss Defeated: High Councilman Aamon (Status: Deceased/Harvested).
- Method: Environmental Destruction / Fall Damage.