The desert was long gone.
Now, all that surrounded the boys was smoke, soot, and the stench of sulfur. They stood on a scorched plateau overlooking what looked like a sunken cathedral, half-buried in molten rock and jagged obsidian. Crimson veins of lava pulsed around its edges like a demonic heartbeat.
"This is the Cradle?" Haru asked, twirling one of his new pistols—a gift from the Technoguild, infused with heat-resistant runes and flame-absorption cores.
Daiki's gaze scanned the air with his foresight ability. His pupils flickered, as if he were watching time itself bend.
"It's not just a tomb. It's a trap. Everything around it is rigged to test us."
Icarus narrowed his eyes. "What do you see?"
"Blood," Daiki whispered. "Ours. Theirs. And something that doesn't bleed."
Ren unsheathed his blade slowly. The steel shimmered with wind—silent, deadly.
"Then we bleed first. Get in. Kill what needs killing. Get out."
No one argued.
They descended into the ashes.
Inside the Cradle
The once-holy cathedral was now a ruin. Statues of saints had melted into grotesque silhouettes. The stained glass was shattered. Charred hymnals floated in pools of acid.
The boys walked side by side, blades and pistols drawn.
"This place gives me Vatican torture chamber vibes," Haru muttered.
"Worse," Icarus replied. "It was abandoned. Even demons forgot this place."
They reached the main altar.
And there—resting on a broken pulpit—was a crown made of scorched gold, bleeding fire.
The moment they stepped closer, the crown floated into the air and split into seven burning fragments.
Each piece turned into a demon avatar, humanoid but twisted—each embodying a cardinal sin.
From a voice in the shadows came a whisper that sounded like a choir drowning in lava:
"You seek to end the breach? Then pass judgment. Let your sins be your trial."
The Trials Begin
The avatars surged forward. Each boy was pulled into a different domain—pocket dimensions created to test their hearts.
Ren found himself in a dojo made of wind and memory. Every opponent was a mirror of himself—each stronger, faster, crueler.
A voice whispered:
"You fight to protect… but what if the world you're saving never loved you?"
He screamed, slicing through illusion after illusion until the dojo collapsed, and the voice was silent.
Haru stood in a burning city, surrounded by innocents on fire.
His pistols refused to shoot. Every time he aimed, a child appeared in his line of sight.
A demon laughed in the distance:
"You love to burn, don't you? What happens when the fire spreads beyond your control?"
He grit his teeth and focused, firing into the ground, melting it, and swallowing the flames before they touched a soul. Control over chaos. He passed.
Icarus faced a trial of isolation.
He stood in a white void—no time, no space, no sound.
His mind screamed.
He walked for what felt like years. Then decades.
Then he saw them—Ren, Haru, Daiki—fading like memories.
"Alone again," he whispered.
And then—he smiled.
"No. They'll always find me."
The void cracked like glass. He passed.
Daiki stood before a mirror showing the future. A vision of the four boys, betrayed. Cut down. Abandoned by both churches.
He was given a choice: Destroy the mirror and lose his foresight… or embrace a future where they died.
He shattered it.
"The future isn't written."
Back in the Cathedral
All four emerged from their domains—bloodied, bruised, but alive.
The avatars howled and burned into dust. The crown reformed and dropped at their feet.
But before Ren could lift it—
Boom.
The cathedral shook.
Lava cracked the floor.
And from beneath the altar, something far older than the trial stirred.
A creature rose—not a demon, but a fallen saint, corrupted by centuries of forgotten worship.
Its body was encased in black crystal. Twelve wings made of obsidian glass. Eyes sewn shut with prayer-beads.
"I was faith," it said. "But when they stopped believing… I became hunger."
The fight was chaos.
Ren moved like a storm, slicing through corrupted feathers. Haru danced in fire, his pistols erupting like cannons. Icarus used pressure fields to pin the creature, while Daiki guided their attacks with real-time foresight, dodging blasts of dark mana and shattered hymns.
The saint screamed a psalm of sorrow that shattered the walls.
But Ren leapt—sword charged with wind—and pierced the creature's chest.
"Your faith died. Ours never did."
The saint let out one final prayer—and crumbled into crystal dust.
Silence.
They stood over the ruins.
Then the real horror began.
From the ashes, a black flower bloomed. A single petal opened.
Inside it: a symbol.
A sigil from the Original Codex—the book of names that predated both Vatican and Ministry lore.
And beneath the symbol, written in infernal script:
"You have passed the first gate. Six remain."
Epilogue — Back on the Ark
Eva and Noro stared at the footage.
The council chamber was silent.
"They did it," said a monk.
"No," Eva whispered. "They've only just begun."
A new war map unfurled—six glowing points marked across the continents.
Each one, a hell of its own.
And at the center of it all… the symbol they found in the Cradle.
The sigil of a name erased from holy records.
THE FIRST DEMON KING.