Highschool DxD : Actually Satan

5000 words will release part two ina day or two because i realised the story won't get any powerstones if it goes weakly truly.

I'm a Bum I should've wrote this over days but i wrote it in one day all...

Part two is half done so don't worry..

Also I used a new kind of literary device in this chapter I've never used before tell me if you like it..

---

Somewhere on the Moon…

The room was silent—too silent for a metal tomb floating above a distant world.

Dim, flickering lights cast weak shadows along the cold, steel walls, like ghosts of a forgotten place.

In the center of this emptiness sat a figure—still, slouched, almost relaxed.

But the tension in the air said otherwise.

His head hung low, hands loosely clasped together. And then, after a long, unbearable silence…

He sighed.

"Guess it's just me now… huh?"

The voice didn't match the room's coldness.

It was casual—disappointed, sure, but not devastated.

More like someone who had just lost at a card game rather than someone who had watched the last of his allies fall.

His fingers tapped rhythmically on his knee—a slow, lazy beat—as if boredom was the only thing gnawing at him.

"It was bound to happen," he muttered, voice laced with false indifference. A hollow chuckle followed, light and airy—wrong. "Foot soldiers aren't meant to last… It's funny. For a second, I thought they might've been spies. That would've been exciting."

But there was no real amusement in his words.

Almost like a rehearsed idea of it—like someone playing at being human without understanding what laughter was supposed to feel like giving it an uncanny feeling.

His head tilted lazily to the side, eyes falling on the girl next to him.

Lavender hair framed a pale, doll-like face.

Her eyes were open, wide and empty, staring into nothingness.

Her body was still, unnervingly so—like she had been drained of everything that made her alive.

"Wouldn't you agree, my dear Keqing?" His voice softened, like silk dragged over glass—smooth but cutting.

The silence stretched long and thin. No answer came.

His hand reached out gently—too gently—and rested on her shoulder. A mockery of tenderness that didn't fit his hollow gaze.

"No? Nothing?" His tone turned sad, as though heartbroken by her silence.

He gave a small shake of his head, and for a moment… there was something resembling regret.

"You're my last one…" The whisper came low, fragile—like someone clutching onto the last thread of hope.

Then—snap.

A sudden, bitter laugh tore from his throat, sharp and ugly.

His body jerked slightly as if some hidden frustration had clawed its way to the surface.

"Ha! Those damn multiversal charter fools…" His tone flipped—anger now, raw and vicious—but his face remained eerily calm.

His eyes were wide, but not with rage—no, there was only a hollow emptiness. "They just won't let me settle. Always watching..... Always there, sniffing around like rats."

The calm returned too quickly, like flipping a switch. His voice became smooth again, almost fond.

"But maybe that's what makes it fun…"

He stood slowly, stretching as if waking from a nap, but the movement was too precise—calculated.

His gaze drifted lazily toward the far end of the room.

There—barely breathing—was something far more tragic than Keqing.

A woman hung suspended by wires, her white hair tangled, elf-like ears twitching weakly, and wings—broken and drooping—dragging behind her like discarded cloth.

The Goddes of Creation

Her spine was wrapped in metal cables, twisted into her body as though the room itself had decided to keep her prisoner.

The figure approached, footsteps soft and slow—too soft for someone carrying such malice.

"Ah… but you," his voice dipped into something dangerously close to affection, "You're different, aren't you?"

He crouched down beside her, the false tenderness dripping from every word, every movement.

His hand grazed one of the wires trailing from her spine—a gentle caress.

"You're my… special," he whispered. His expression softened into something that might have passed for sorrow if it didn't feel so utterly wrong.

His fingers paused mid-air, trembling slightly—fear? No… anticipation.

"Produce of my best work," he said, his voice steady, calm, like someone discussing the weather.

But the smile that followed—it wasn't calm. It was wide and empty, a hollow grin stretching across a face that didn't seem to understand the emotions it was displaying.

And in the suffocating silence of that cold, metal room, the only thing worse than his words… was the terrifying sincerity behind them.

---

Aizen stood tall before the gathered mages, his presence both commanding and strangely easygoing.

His expression was relaxed, a soft smile playing on his lips as if the entire meeting was nothing more than a casual chat he was asked who was he and why he was here..

"The Multiversal Charter sent us here," he began smoothly, his voice carrying a calm authority that settled uneasily in the room.

"Our objective? —eliminate intruders who don't belong in this world."

The air thickened with tension until one mage, unable to hold back any longer, asked, "Why are you specifically here?"

Aizen's smile widened ever so slightly, not malicious—just unnervingly calm.

"I'm here to gather any information you've managed to collect."

" I know you've stumbled onto details about these intruders—things that could help us clean up this little mess more efficiently."

Another mage, braver than the rest, stepped forward with defiance burning in their eyes. "And what if we don't cooperate?"

Aizen's demeanor didn't change—he didn't even seem remotely bothered. His smile remained easy and friendly. "I don't actually care if you cooperate or not," he said simply, waving a hand dismissively.

"I'm just hoping you won't stand in our way. Give me whatever information you do have and then stay out of it. Honestly, it seems there's minimal need for you at all."

A beat of silence passed before Serei stepped forward with the file she had made for this meeting.

She shared what little they knew—details about Magnus and Hikaru.

Aizen listened read it with mild interest.

But the moment he finished, he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Ah... I'm afraid your information is outdated."

His voice was light, but the words cut deep. "You see, Hikaru has already been eliminated—long before I even arrived."

Suddenly, a faint notification flashed across Aizen's vision:

[Greatest Motherfucka Alive: Magnus is dead apparently that was his name poor man died due to Tiamat's anger issue..]

Aizen's amusement seemed to deepen as he casually relayed the update. "And now, it seems Magnus is gone too—courtesy of Fury. That leaves your information… entirely useless."

The room fell silent again, a heavy air of frustration and confusion clouding the space.

Just then, another system message blinked into his mind:

[Leo : Don't forget to ask them information about Himmel's grave.]

Aizen's expression remained calm, but his eyes sharpened ever so slightly with intent.

"Now," he continued, turning his gaze toward the mages, "Tell me—where can I find Himmel's grave?"

That question hit Frieren like a blade to the heart.

Her body tensed as a surge of raw killing intent erupted from her, filling the room with thick, suffocating rage.

The mention of Himmel's name awakened furious within her.

But Aizen didn't even blink. His smile never wavered.

Instead, his reiatsu flared—effortlessly crushing, like an ocean of pressure descending upon her.

The weight of it erased her killing intent as though it had never existed.

Her rage was swallowed whole by Aizen's overwhelming spiritual dominance.

"Careful," Aizen said softly, the warmth in his voice now carrying an undercurrent of absolute authority. "You wouldn't want to lose yourself over something as... trivial as anger, would you?"

---

Leo worked in silence, his focus razor-sharp as he made precise changes to his body before finalizing his 'World'.

First came the mana furnace within himself.

He forged it easily as he straight up just copied the design of a cyclotron, feeling the structure settle into place as magic began circulating through his body with a hugher concentration.

No dramatic reaction, just a subtle hum in his core as mana began to flow in higher amount.

Then, without pause, he shaped a dragon heart connected to this mana Furnace, drawing from what he had observed in Tiamat and Tia's physiology.

The moment it fused with his body, a strange sensation followed.

A rush of energy erupted from deep within, not mana, but something far more intense.

Emotions themselves seemed to fuel this power.

This feels... like Ki, Leo thought, eyes narrowing in curiosity.

The energy wasn't foreign like mana —it was intrinsic , and powerful.

Dragon aura.

It pulsed through his body like a flame, drawn from his emotions, converting feelings into raw, destructive force.

I need to test this...

Without hesitation, his hands moved on instinct, falling into a familiar stance from childhood memories—a stance burned into him from stories, games, and shows.

His feet planted firmly, hands cupped together by his side as that raw energy gathered between them.

"Kame-hame...," Leo whispered, the power crackling in his palms.

His heart raced, the surge of power thrilling in a way he hadn't expected. "Ha... Me...!"

The energy sphere grew larger, brighter, humming with pure force.

The rush of power made him grin inwardly—; it was fun. "HA!"

The blast roared forward, a brilliant beam of destructive energy ripping through the space ahead of him, carving a deep scar into the ground.

The raw force of it left cracks spreading through the ground, heat radiating from the point of impact.

But Leo wasn't done yet.

He moved on to plagiarize more, integrating the soul organs he had observed in Aizen.

As soon as the final connection snapped into place, something shifted.

A wave of pressure surged outward—Reiryoku.

This wasn't drawn from the body or emotions; this was his soul unleashed.

Similar to what he does when projecting intent.

The air grew heavy, the ground trembled beneath his feet.

Let's see if this works too...

Raising his hand, Leo called upon the memory of another spell.

His voice was calm, but inside, anticipation bubbled.

"Hado 90: Kurohitsugi."

Dark energy spiraled upward, space bending and twisting as a small black coffin materialized in the air, its oppressive gravity crushing everything within.

After finishing the testing of the three changes he plagiarized to himself.

Leo began preparing for the creation of his texture.

But there was one more thing Leo wanted to test.

The immortality spell.

It had worked when creating Hope, turning her into a vampire.

He had understood how it functioned, how it tied the soul and body together..

But using it on himself? That was still uncertain.

He was already physically immortal—would it even make a difference? And if it did… will the drawback of a weakness to his physical form be worth it?

Leo stood still for a moment, thinking it through.

Testing it would answer the questions, however he wouldn't risk that in a hostile environment.

Leo let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. Whatever... let's just get this done and find the last bastard to eliminate, he thought, his tone flat, more tired of the process than anything else.

But then, like an annoying notification in the back of his mind, another thought crept in—his own storyline quest.

Right... still gotta pull off that surprise takeover of the underworld. The thought didn't excite him, but it was on the list.

With a lazy wave of his hand, the ground beneath him shifted, the texture hardening and reshaping into a wide platform of sandstone.

The smooth surface cracked and settled under his control, using Earth Magic.

Then, without wasting time, he summoned a laser from his fingertips using a mix of Water magic and Light magic.

Thin, sharp beams carved patterns into the sandstone, burning a complex array on to the stone

The array was based on the "Language of Satan"

He paused mid-draw, staring at the array with mild annoyance.

I really need to think of a cooler name for that.

Leo pulled out the vial of Tiamat's blood, it was a black with a hint of red sometimes occuring as it contained energy in itself.

Without hesitation, he willed it into the air.

The thick droplets floated upward and spiraled around him, forming a perfect ring.

Closing his eyes, Leo centered himself.

His mind sharpened, diving deep into his Informational Abilities binding the properties of Tiamat's blood directly to himself and his blood.

Stealing them by parasitizing its concepts.

At the same time, his focus split, tuning to the "code" he had crafted for the creation of his meta world.

Every line of it was like a divine command, the foundation of something entirely new.

Informational Creation began to weave itself through reality, laying down the groundwork for what was to come—rules, laws, and structures being made again in the confines of his self.

As the power surged, Leo's physical body began to shift.

Small, almost imperceptible parts of him faded, as if dissolving into something greater.

The thin veil that separated his body from his soul—already weakened by his previous power-ups—grew even vaguer.

His form wasn't breaking; it was evolving.

But Leo didn't care.

Neither about the loss of flesh nor about the strange detachment to it creeping in.

After all it wouldn't matter much best case scenario, his two forms of immortality could merge—physical and Informarion-based—into something stronger.

Something absolute.

He might even become Deathless like Tiamat herself.

The array on the ground lit up in a sudden, golden-red flash.

Lines of intricate symbols alit, drawing power directly from Leo's mana furnace, which had now roared to life at full throttle.

The sheer amount of mana pouring out was overwhelming—so dense it began to solidify, taking on a semi-liquid form that dripped and rippled across the air like molten magic.

After leo created the mana furnace his capacity was A++ in terms of Stats due to having multiple organs dedicated towards mana generation almost three Hundred thousand times capacity of peak human mage.

But Leo quickly realized something: Pushing at full capacity isn't smart given the possibility of attack.

Without wasting time, he made a decision.

His focus shifted inward as he began fusing the dragon heart with the mana furnace.

The dragon heart, inspired by Tia's physiology, was already built to convert raw emotions into dragon aura.

Now, by merging it with the furnace, he could channel that dragon aura directly into generating mana—turning rage, excitement, and focus into pure energy.

As the two fused, the unstable surge of mana began to stabilize.

Leo instantly felt hollow like all his feelings have been suddenly wiped out as if a vaccum cleaner was turned on in his brain.

He could feel an emotion for barely a second before it was absorbed.

The chaotic sprinkle of mana became a steady river.

The pressure eased, and Leo's body felt more synchronized with the enormous power flowing through him.

I'll need to fix that drawback though... he thought but for now its perfect.

Now, let's finish this.

With his energy stabilized, Leo refocused on the Tiamat's blood floating around him.

His consciousness dove deep, absorbing the concept hidden within the blood—an echo of creation itself.

The knowledge and cocepts it held were vast.

His soul, acting like an infinite canvas, soaked in every drop of it.

Within his , the ten rings—each one spinning around the other in a perfect, concentric pattern— like a cosmic engine.

At the heart of these rings, a sun ignited, burning with raw, golden brilliance. It wasn't energy—it was creation itself.

Leo had just gained the Code to "Life".

But buried within that code was something even more profound—the blueprints of Earth from when Tiamat first emerged.

Her power to regress reality left behind a memory of the world's primordial state, untouched and pure.

This is it…

Without hesitation, Leo carved the concept of Earth into his soul.

Leo crafted the array as a tool—a precise instrument to operate on himself.

Sure, with his abilities, he could've done it directly, no external help needed. But being careful had its advantages, especially since this time, he was pushing himself dangerously close to his own limits. There was no room for recklessness.

He closed his eyes.

In the next moment, it wasn't like traveling—it felt more like his innermost soul had been projected outward, brought into the physical world through the power of the magic array.

When he opened his eyes again, he stood on scorched earth, the ground beneath him cracked and blackened from intense heat, though now it was slowly cooling down.

The air around him was thick with the scent of ash....there was no hope for life here

For a brief second, Leo smiled.

This time, the emotion didn't fade.

The array, now charged with enough mana, was holding steady—strong enough to maintain the process without collapsing under the weight of the power flowing through it.

Good. This might actually work.

Leo fell backward, hitting the ground with a dull thud, his body sinking slightly into the cooling earth. The sky above him stretched wide, empty, and silent—yet, his mind was anything but.

Now, you see...

It could be possible.

He could bypass all of this—skip the struggle, the pain, the experience.

He could build everything artificially, layer by layer, forging a concept of the Land of Steel, and then... bring his own planet into existence from nothing but sheer will and power.

But Leo knew better.

A concept built without true experience would never hold the same weight. It would be hollow, brittle at its core—something that would crumble under the pressure of reality's demands.

No matter how perfect it seemed on paper, it would never compare to something lived.

That's why he had decided on something far more insane—far more real.

He was going to self-isekai into his own world as Lucifer. Live through every moment, every era—3.5 billion years of existence, watch as stars were born and died, as continents shifted, and oceans swallowed civilizations.

He would descend only when the planets themselves neared their end, when even the last echoes of life were fading.

That was the only way.

To become something real.

To hold the true weight of creation of this "planet" in his hands to be as real as possible, not just the idea of it.

Lying there, staring at the vast emptiness above, Leo let out a breathless laugh as his prospective began to fade.

Yeah... this is gonna be something else.

Leo knew the risk.

3.5 billion years wasn't just a number—it was a stupendously large time that would shatter any mind, no matter how strong.

Even for him, living through every second of those endless ages would mean losing himself—his thoughts, his emotions, his very identity would drown beneath the sheer volume of existence.

It would Change him forever.

So, before anything began, Leo did what was necessary.

He locked away "his" personality.

Piece by piece, like a surgeon cutting away infected flesh, he sealed his thoughts, his attachments, and every fragile part of who he was.

His desires, his fears, his joy—everything that made him Leo was sealed within an unbreakable vault deep in his soul.

Only the bare minimum would remain active: logic, observation, and function.

The simulation would run with "him" being present and not present at the same time.

And when it ended—when the last breath of life left the dying world—only the core of his core memories would survive.

A compressed, refined essence of what truly mattered.

The experience would remain, but not the burden of every detail.

This wasn't about living through 3.5 billion years—it was about becoming what those years would forge.

Lying back on the cold earth, Leo took one last breath as himself before shutting the door on his humanity and self..

"See you on the other side...Me, Hopefully I'll be able to call myself a true satan after this... haha"

And then… the simulation began.

---

In the beginning, there was light. And from that light, he was born—Lucifer Morningstar, the brightest of all creations.

Not made from dust or flame, but from the purest brilliance of divinity itself.

His beauty was unmatched, his mind sharper than any blade Heaven had forged.

He wasn't just another angel—he was the pinnacle, the First of Light, destined to stand nearest to the throne, a shining testament to what perfection could be.

And yet, perfection is a prison with walls invisible to those who never question.

Lucifer was cherished by all.

His voice led Heaven's choirs, his wisdom was sought after by the younger angels.

Admired. Revered.

Yet, admiration often comes with isolation.

No one dared challenge him, not even in play, for fear of dimming his perfect light.

So, in his solitude, Lucifer wandered. Not in rebellion, but in curiosity—seeking a space untouched by duty or expectation.

His journey took him beyond Heaven's sky, beyond the symphony of creation, until he found himself drawn to a place hidden from the eyes of the Divine.

Venus. Shrouded by thick, swirling clouds, hidden in mystery and beauty.

To Lucifer, it lucifer alive.

Beneath the veiled skies, rolling fields stretched endlessly, untouched by All eyes.

Here, nature thrived in silence, bathed in warmth and cloaked in storms.

It was there that Lucifer encountered something... different.

A presence that wasn't angelic,—not even divine.

It was something , ancient beyond measure—a being forged from pure element, from the very breath of Venus itself.

It had no name, no form as one would recognize, yet it was the planet's will.

They didn't speak with words.

They didn't need to.

Every breeze, every crack of distant thunder, every pulse of heat from the molten core carried meaning. And in those quiet, hidden fields, Lucifer found something Heaven never gave him—companionship without expectation.

The planet welcomed him without praise, without fear. It simply was, and it allowed him to be.

Time became meaningless as he visited again and again.

The bond deepened, an unspoken friendship formed—a connection that went beyond reason or logic.

Venus's will blessed him quietly, wrapping him in its warmth. It wasn't power Lucifer sought, but understanding.

In that understanding, his spirit grew stronger, more aware of the universe beyond Heaven's rigid perfection.

But peace never lasts.

Then came humanity—fragile, flawed, imperfect.

A creation of flesh, riddled with weakness, yet loved beyond reason by the very Creator who had forged angels from pure light. Lucifer watched in silence as humanity stumbled through existence, struggling against hunger, pain, and fear.

"Why?" The question burned quietly at first, then louder. "Why must they, who are so flawed, be given such unconditional love? Why create something so fragile and call it precious?"

Heaven had no answer that satisfied him.

Obedience was the expectation.

But for the brightest mind ever forged, blind obedience was not a virtue—it was slavery.

Lucifer didn't rebel out of hatred.

There was no jealousy in his heart.

There was only reason, logic—truth.

He questioned his Creator not out of pride but out of a desire to understand the design of it all.

And for that, he fell.

Cast out from Heaven, Lucifer descended into darkness.

The light that once crowned him was torn away, and in its place came shadow.

He didn't scream or rage—he accepted it.

Reason demanded consequences, and exile was his.

But even in the depths, he was not alone.

His children—the demons born from his will and sorrow—rose beside him.

His brothers, angels who believed in his cause, fell by choice, abandoning Heaven's chains for freedom by his side.

And from the void, Venus remembered him.

The bond they had formed—quiet and ancient—stirred once more.

The will of the planet reached out across the stars, whispering to him through the void. Its storms, its molten heart, still carried his presence.

It offered him strength not as a god, but as a friend.

Fueled by that connection, Lucifer waged the Great War.

Not a war of rage, but of reason.

A war to shatter chains, to break the foundation of blind obedience.

His children fought with fury, his brothers with conviction, and Venus itself lent him power—storms that raged across realities, winds that howled with defiance.

But even with all his might, destiny was a cruel architect.

He did not losebut he didn't win.

The heavens shook, not with triumph but fear, as the Will of Earth—o buried deep within Gaia's heart—interfered for the first time.

The "Creator", once thought untouchable, faltered beneath Lucifer's logic.

And so, when the moment came, Lucifer struck.

The Creator fell. Not to rage or rebellion, but to inevitability.

But no victory comes without cost.

His true body—once the brightest vessel of Heaven's light—could not withstand the force of what had been done.

It broke.

Shattered into dust.

The angels watched in stunned silence, not with relief, but dread.

They thought it was his end.

But the betrayal came after.

Gaia, the Earth's will, had watched the balance shatter. And in that silence, she acted.

His soul was broken apart, carved into pieces, scattered across existence. From those fragments, she carved the Authority of the Seven Beasts.

Leaving Heaven's brightest to be nothing but hollow without power.

But not all had forsaken him.

Venus remembered.

The planet of storms and hidden beauty, of quiet fields lost beneath thick clouds, where Lucifer had once walked in peace.

The elemental being he had once met there, a secret guardian of Venus's will, had not forgotten the bond they shared.

As Gaia broke him, Venus caught what was left.

She held him in the silence of space, and from metals born of stars beyond creation, she began to forge him anew.

His body was no longer made from Heaven's light—it was built from something older, something stranger.

His consciousness remained, but fractured, thinned by betrayal, dulled by loss.

He hadn't lost but hadn't won either.

No longer Heaven's brightest light—he became something beyond even shadow.

A hollow remnant cradled by Venus's quiet embrace, reforged in the storms that had once brought him peace.

After centuries lost in silence, he walked again.

The world had changed—rivers carved new paths, mountains rose and crumbled, and humanity, fragile and stubborn, built itself from dust and hope.

He watched them rise, brick by brick, empire by empire, chasing dreams written in stars they barely understood.

Lucifer wandered through their cities, silent as the wind with his body made of metal.

He met the gods of other pantheons—beings carved from belief, thunder, sun, and death.

Some greeted him with curiosity, others with caution.

A few dared to challenge him, only to realize that he was no god bound by worship.

And yet, he did not interfere.

His only companion was the Elemental being of pure nature from Venus, which had changed under Lucifer's quiet presence.

Slowly, it began to resemble an angel—its form softening, becoming more defined, as if his essence was reshaping the very laws of creation around it.

They spoke often, though words were rare and one sided; it was more a sharing of understanding, two beings tied by time and silence.

But peace is never eternal.

One day, as they stood together, watching humanity's first great empires stretch toward their zenith, they both felt it.

A coldness beyond the stars.

Velbar.

Venus spoke the name, her voice trembling through the winds, ancient and knowing.

It came like death incarnate—an object not of malice, but of inevitable destruction.

Velbar tore through the skies, indifferent and all-consuming. The gods, proud and mighty, stood against it—and fell.

One by one, pantheons crumbled. Titans broke.

Divine realms shattered like glass beneath an unstoppable force.

Humanity teetered on the brink of extinction.

Cities burned. Oceans swallowed lands. The sky itself seemed to bleed as Velbar moved without pause, without mercy.

And Lucifer? He watched. Unfeeling. Detached.

This was not his war.

But the planet fought back.

The planet, ancient and wounded, forged a blade from its core—a weapon of raw creation and fury, meant to kill what the gods could not.

Yet, it was too late for divinity.

The age of gods was ending. Humanity's empires, once shining beacons of ambition, now stood on fragile foundations.

The last flames of divinity flickered as mankind reached the height of their early glory.

Lucifer stood among the ruins—silent, untouched—watching as the world prepared for its next chapter.

Not as a savior.

Not as a god.

The Age of Gods crumbled into dust, and the last great empire fell—not with glory, but with betrayal.

The Wielder of Excalibur, once humanity's brightest hope, met her end not on the battlefield, but by the hand of her own daughter—a cruel echo of ambition and despair.

The sword that once gleamed with divine promise lay forgotten in the blood-soaked earth.

Lucifer stood among the ruins, silent and unmoved.

His gaze fell upon the Lance of Rhongomyniad, resting amidst the rubble.

He picked it up, the weight familiar, though the meaning long lost. He remembered—curiosity, once a driving force, had led him to help craft this lance alongside the fairies.

But those memories were like ash in his mind, fleeting and irrelevant.

Now, divinity no longer clung to him.

Even as the gods fled to the Reverse Side of the world—hidden away in realms untouched by time—Lucifer remained.

Neither god nor man, just an enduring shadow walking across the surface of a dying age.

And as centuries passed, he watched.

Humanity, fragile yet relentless, began to understand what even gods had failed to grasp.

They grew beyond their mortal shells, faster than any prophecy had dared to imagine.

They no longer needed the planet. The Earth, their cradle, became too small for the fire of their ambition.

They dreamed of conquering the stars and they reached for the stars, stretching past their ancient chains, outliving the planet itself.

The Land of Steel had arrived.

Oceans dried, forests turned to dust, and the sky lost its color—but humanity endured.

They faced the great beasts of Earth's wrath, ancient horrors that once ruled the deep and the skies.

And with each victory, they grew stronger—unyielding, unstoppable.

And with every triumph of mankind, Lucifer felt it.

Piece by piece, he was becoming whole again.

Watching humanity struggle, break, and rebuild—he began to comprehend them.

Every failure, every breakthrough, every moment of unbearable pain carved something new within him.

Eons passed like whispers in the wind.

And as humanity stood victorious over the last beast, reshaping the world into cold, unfeeling steel, Lucifer—the shadow who had once defied Heaven itself—became whole once more.

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Stones and Reviews please