ROOOAAAR!!
A thunderous bellow split the sky, stirring up a storm of dust and ash.
Vast wings flared open. A massive figure plummeted from above like a meteor—crashing down with the force of an extinction event.
Below, the ground flared with the light of a newborn star.
A towering, egg-like structure, several dozen meters tall, stood sentinel on this desolate world. Its molten core churned like magma—no, like a pulsing heart. Rhythmic surges of energy rippled outward from it, deep into the crust.
And as it pulsed, the surrounding land withered and cracked. The soil turned pale and lifeless. Every drop of vitality in the earth was being leeched away and funneled into that structure.
This was the birthplace of the Antimatter Legion.
The forge of the Aeon of Destruction.
Its name: the War Foundry.
Throw the dead into it, and they would be reborn—washed in negative particles as Voidrangers.
And now, a colossal set of claws came crashing down toward it—intending to tear this monstrous facility apart.
The claws themselves radiated the telltale signature of annihilation. There was no mistaking it.
This was a Doomsday Beast, the Legion's most powerful warborn.
And not just any one—it was the very same creature that had obliterated Robin's ship.
Its outer shell still bore the scorch marks from that encounter, evidence of the raw destructive force it embodied.
But now, this Doomsday Beast—spawned by the Antimatter Legion—had turned its deadly claws against the War Foundry itself.
Unfortunately, the blow was doomed to fail.
Just as its right claw was about to make contact, a radiant orange shield flickered to life around the structure.
ZZZZZZZT!
Sparks exploded violently as the claws scraped across the barrier. But within moments, the fingers began to dissolve—devoured by the godlike destruction energy radiating from the Foundry itself.
The Doomsday Beast didn't care. Even as its talons disintegrated, it pressed harder.
ROAAAARRRR!!!
Another earth-shaking roar escaped its jaws as it threw all its strength behind the strike.
"Ridiculous. How many times has it done this now? Still hasn't learned?"
Nearby, two figures stood watching, amused by the futile assault.
One of them was Beckir, a member of the Annihilation Cult—and one of the key architects of Camille's fall.
"Turns out when you turn a royal into a Doomsday Beast, the intelligence doesn't transfer over."
His companion snorted in agreement.
This was Harland, and the gleam in his eye made it clear he found the whole scene thoroughly entertaining.
"Even regular Doomsday Beasts learn after failing once or twice. This one's what, on attempt number ten? Pathetic."
He clicked his tongue, tone tinged with disdain.
"Whatever. Let's finish draining the planet's core. Once it's dry, we'll have more than enough fuel to complete the Foundry."
His eyes gleamed with fanaticism. "Then maybe… maybe a Lord Ravager will finally look our way."
"Yeah… even the Jepella Brotherhood won't be able to match that kind of achievement."
Beckir pulled out a jagged shard of crystal—irregular in shape, but humming with power.
It pulsed in rhythm with the War Foundry.
They'd stumbled across it by pure chance, and through it… they had heard the voice of a Lord Ravager.
A being said to serve directly under Nanook—the Aeon of Destruction itself.
Normally, someone like that would be completely out of reach, even for Annihilation Cultists.
But now? They had a direct line.
Guided by the shard, they had traveled to Camille and planted the War Foundry into the living planet's flesh.
Once the ritual was complete, once the call was answered… the Lord would notice them.
And when he did, ascension would follow.
They would rise.
In the distance, the Doomsday Beast let out one final roar—its arms now completely dissolved—and flew away into the clouds.
The two cultists watched it vanish.
"Maybe we should have the others rip it apart," Beckir muttered.
He held the shard aloft. It pulsed again.
With it, he could command anything the War Foundry birthed—Voidrangers, Tramplers, even other Doomsday Beasts.
"Let it try again. Next time, we'll crush it. We've got four more anyway—what's one less?"
As he spoke, four vast shadows darkened the already-sickly sky.
Their presence cast the land into deeper gloom, blotting out what little light remained.
---
A wreath of twigs drifted gently onto Sora's head.
"King Armored Mode, Origin—uh, wait, wrong series."
Sora coughed awkwardly and abandoned the joke.
He was currently surrounded by a small army of children.
Atop his head sat what might generously be called a flower crown—though it bore no actual flowers. Or leaves, really.
But the kids looked up at him with shining eyes, watching him in breathless anticipation.
Sora didn't miss his cue this time.
He pressed the button on the Memory.
"[JOKER]"
A mechanical voice rang out, crisp and cool.
"Wahhh! It talks!!"
"Sora-oniisan is so cool!"
"Juuka!!" (A mangled attempt at "Joker.")
Sora raised his hands to quiet the group. They fell silent instantly, eyes fixed on him in rapt attention.
Even Robin, standing off to the side with her chin in her hand, couldn't help but smile.
He said he wasn't good with kids… sure doesn't look like it now.
She watched him calmly from behind the children.
"You all know what comes next, right?"
"Yesss~!"
The kids' voices rang out in perfect unison.
And so—
Sora placed the twig crown carefully on his head.
No hat like the original, but it'd do as a stand-in.
He struck a pose, one arm outstretched.
"Saa, let's count your sins!"
The courtyard erupted. Cheers, claps, squeals.
The children burst with excitement, practically vibrating with joy.
It took a while before the excitement died down enough for Robin to squeeze through the crowd and reach him.
"Sora," she said, "Ouja came looking for me. She wants to know your answer."
She hesitated, eyes searching his face.
"…Did you agree to something with them?"