The Watcher crossed the Overseer's Chamber, his footsteps a silent echo through the massive rotund room as he approached the destroyed Lusus Naturae. The copper shell had been sliced opened cleanly a quarter into the way. Melted metal coagulated the side as if a lightsaber had cauterized the shell. Laying sprawled within the mess was the dehydrated and decomposed body of Renasque Isvael, her skin dried to the point where her bones lined her frame, her lips forever parted in a stretched smile that bared teeth and peace.

Backing her, the capsules that held the former Overseers had been cut opened and burnt, the bodies within mutilated beyond recognition. It was not an execution. It was torture.

He knelt down beside the body, tears flowing down his cheeks. “I'm sorry, Rena. I'm so, so sorry.”

My original ability was to view the glimpses of consciousness from the deaths of individuals.

Her words flashed into his mind like a car accident. Looking around the debris pile, his eyes settled on Rena's left hand which was balled into a fist. A small streak of brown extended out.

Tenderly, he unravelled the closed fist and pulled out the contents, strains of fused skin and dried blood vessel tug and snapped away. A small scroll of brown leather, covered in maroon and grime, was retrieved.

Within it, the words were written in dried and flaking black ink.

18th floor.

Good luck.

For two years, the girl had been trapped within the cage. She must have seen her death come and right before being locked into the copper shell, she wrote those lines for him and held on throughout the ordeal.

He got to his feet, fists trembling from a tumultuous rage of emotions. Without another look, he walked out of the chamber.

The hallway was eerily quiet. Dead silence rang in his ears like the whistle of a far off train.

“There's no one here.” Kathleen Ambershey stepped out and around him, scanning the corridor. “Where is everyone?”

The Watcher ignored her, following the rounding path in silence until he reached the elevator. The shaft that was damaged by Nadier and Nora had been long since repaired. He called for the moving platform, which arrived in seconds. Stepping onto the fenced up lift, he could hear a barrage of voices as whispers from far below. The floors above remained stilled in noise.

Kathleen noted, “Nadier said you needed a key.”

Again, disregarding her, The Watcher casually pressed the button for the eighteenth floor. After a short seconds of wait, the elevator rumbled and began lowering down.

“What the–?”

“It's Light,” The Watcher explained. “He's charismatic, coercive, cunning. The three Cs.”

“He lied about the key? Why?”

“Because he can.” As the elevator continued it's journey, the voices from the ground floor grew louder. But with each passing level, the silence above simply got more deafening. “It's how he fights. Despite all that physical power, he'll choose to play the game. I think because the old him is still in there, somewhere.”

The elevator stopped and he got out of the floor and into a small reception chamber. It was a small rectangular room with two stone tables that lined the pathway leading to a large set of double doors. A large plaque hung arching over the doorway, reading 'Feasting Hall'. With confident treads, he crossed the threshold and forced the doors opened. The two wooden blockade swung away with little resistance, rotating on their hinges and slamming into the walls, the impact reverberating through the large, empty hall.

With a long aisle down carpeted by red with gold seams and four rows of six columns worth of long dining tables at its side, the hall stretched to two empty stages built into the left and right far walls. Red bricks chequered with plates of copper plastered the atmosphere. A high ceiling with four large chandeliers of glowing incandescent bulbs hung overhead.

At the far end, opposite the entrance, another long table was set perpendicular to the rest. Behind the table at dead centre sat Light in a robe of white and streaming gold. Behind the man, the towering opened portal swirled purple, the Mist spinning clockwise and counter-clockwise simultaneously, a dizzying rotation. Within the middle of the spectacle, a clear orb-like image of a desolate landscape sat upside-down.

Light greeted enthusiastically from his seat, “Please! Watcher! No need to be violent with the door. It's not like it made the Star Wars prequel.”

“The Skywalkers are an annoying family,” The Watcher retorted loudly, taking long strides through towards Light.

“I agree,” Light replied. The man gestured to the long table before him, where a bounty of food of varying colours, freshness, and variety, laid sprawled. “Come, chat with me over a meal. You must be wondering how I got to this world.”

The Watcher stopped before the table but did not take a seat. He asked, “What happened to your body?”

What was once a handsome, unblemished face had a scar running across right cheek to chin and diagonal across the nose. Underneath the pristine clothing, glimpses of further scaring could be seen peeking out. There were more wound than The Watcher could count.

“Oh,” the Lord faked surprise. “These? Just a gift your friend gave me. I believe he's the Cold Fusion. Miguel Vallertes? And I thought we were godlike before, you and I. I guess I should have known that he would be strong. They wouldn't be called Godkillers, otherwise.”

The Watcher could feel fragments of time within the wounds. Little parts of space out of tandem with the rest of the world around them.

Light continued, “Corpse Party. Miguel's exseed burst. Bastard brings a cold so freezing that it slows time itself. Worst yet, his cuts brings a little of that cold back with it. Practically cripples the body's ability from healing. So even if you survived his initial attack, the injuries don't heal normally. I spent two seasons bleeding to death before time resumed. I was a walking corpse.” He pointed to the scar on his face. “Had to cauterize some wounds myself to survive.”

The man laughed at his own story before turning his body around to look at the portal behind. Sided by metal towers that fired off electrical currents, there was a power generator the size of a small house hidden within its shadows further back.

Light said, “But I have this now. Just a while longer and the portal will be fully connected.”

“Stop this,” The Watcher plainly retorted. “People are going to die.”

“Oh, lighten up, will you? Get it? Lighten?” Light picked up a roasted drumstick and threw it lightly to The Watcher. The latter did not react, instead, stood still as the food bounced off his chest and dropped to the ground. “Well, that's not very nice, wasting food like that.”

“Light...”

Instead, the madman rambled on, “But let me tell you though, it wasn't easy getting here. Not especially after what you did to me. I had to punch a hole through the universe itself! Might have lost a few screws on the way.”

“Light, please...”

“Say it,” Light blatantly asked.

“What?”

“Say my name.”

With a cracking voice of sorrow, The Watcher replied, “I can't.”

“Oh, you and your rules,” Light waved him with frustration. “Come now, there's no one else here. Honestly, if I wanted to collapse my own timeline, I wouldn't have used 'Light' for two hundred years.”

The Watcher stood in contemplation of that logic, and found no loops for it. “So why do you want me to say your real name now?”

A soft smile spread across Light's face, and for a moment, they were back in the good old days of blood and war. “We're the last ones left, aren't we? If you're not going to call me by my name, then there's no one else who can.”

The Watcher looked up to the swirling portal once more. He sighed and asked, “Why did you kill Rena?”

“The Overseer? She had served her purpose. And her existence was a threat to my plan,” Light explained matter-of-factly. There was no remorse in his tone. It was the voice of the greater good. He had always been the voice for the greater good. Then, his lips cracked into a dented grin. “I also wanted to hear you say my name. So I killed everyone in this building. The country is still running fine. No one even realize their entire government dissolved. Just like Belgium and New Haven.”

“Light...”

“With this portal, I can finally finish our mission. Reshape Gaia to a standard of peace. No more wars. No more anything! Our vision will be realized! All you have to do is say my name.”

“You can still stop this. We can still stop this.”

Light slammed his hands on the table, the food jumping and splaying across the tabletop. He pushed away his seat, the bench knocking backwards as he shot to his feet. “We're the last ones, Watcher! There's no one else! With this, we can bring everyone back! We can save everyone we loved!”

The Watcher screamed back, “At what cost? The death of everyone outside our timeline?”

“SAY MY NAME, PAUSA!”

“LUVIET!”

A blinding burst of light emitted from Light's body, sharp rays shining in all directions, piercing wooden tables and blasting chunks off of walls. The Watcher drew his sword and Light formed a sabre from his element. The Lord leapt over the table, slashing at The Watcher. The time traveller stepped back in tandem with a swift parry. Light spun, raised his sword, an opening between them.

He slashed down.