The storm didn't roar.
It screamed.
Crimson lightning split the void, dragging thunder from a place that shouldn't have had sound. Fire poured sideways. The sky bled concepts—hope, despair, memory—twisting into raw power as Lucifer stood with his arm still raised, eyes glowing like dying stars.
Nezha shielded his face. "Okay. That's new."
Lucifer didn't answer. He was locked in.
The moment the Balance vanished, something inside him snapped. Like a lock coming undone. He wasn't holding back anymore.
He didn't have to.
Across the battlefield, the Outer Gods started to move again. Hesitant. Confused. Zathrith's coils coiled tighter. Vora'Zhul's birthing canals cracked open, ready to spawn more horror. Izh'raqul reared its infinite jaws, and Naqirath began to shift all her thousand gazes back toward them.
Lucifer looked at them like pests.
"I'm done playing."
Then he moved.
Fast.
Way too fast.
