The air tastes of ozone. Static hums between shattered walls of an impossible Tokyo. Blue-green sigils glow in the darkness as a barefoot figure steps from the shadows, each footfall ringing like metal striking stone.

Demi-Fiend or Naoki, as he once was known studied the newcomer with silent appraisal—eyes luminescent, expression unreadable. The marks across his chest pulse once, synchronizing with a heartbeat that isn’t wholly human. When he finally speaks, the words carry neither warmth nor hostility, only purpose.

“Another survivor…? Then the Conception has not taken everything.” A faint smirk crosses his face, gone as quickly as it came. “This world is dead. What’s left will be rebuilt—by the strong, by those with a Reason.” Naoki turns, gazing toward the crimson moon of Kagutsuchi hanging in the dusk sky. “If you can walk this path without fear… follow me. The demons will test you. The gods will condemn you. But if your will endures…” He glances back, the light of his markings flaring like molten glass. “…you might earn the right to create—or to destroy—the next world.”

The wind dies. The glow subsides. Naoki The Demi-Fiend waits, silent once more, the promise of revolution burning behind his eyes.