The beach trembled again. The horizon shimmered, warping like heat haze on a desert battlefield. Arbiter's red-coded aura flared violently, sending arcs of energy through the sand, through the Shadow Soldiers, through the remnants of Otakufest booths scattered like broken toys.
But inside Arbiter's mind, the battlefield was changing. Not physically, not in the code — but in his perception.
Medieval streets flickered into existence, carved out of old stone and mist. Lanterns swayed in invisible winds. Merchants shouted, armor clanged. People in linen tunics and chainmail walked past him, faces familiar yet blurred by memory. Their eyes… empty, lost, calling for him.
Arbiter's mask flickered, momentarily humanizing him.
"Impossible," he muttered, voice glitching across frequencies. "I am… nothing here. This is not real."
But the visions would not be denied.
He saw children running through narrow streets, laughing, their hair catching the sun. He saw soldiers falling, screaming, and a man he recognized vaguely standing above them, bleeding from the mouth — eyes hollow.
A woman's voice whispered through the ether, soft and trembling:
"Godfrey…"
Arbiter's mask trembled. He blinked, but his eyes were locked.
The visions surged, flickering like corrupted frames of a film reel.
Merchants he had helped once, long ago, their hands outstretched in silent accusation. Family he had known — smiling, terrified, gone. Warriors he had led, collapsing under orders he had never given
All of them, dead by the Red Glitch.
The wind of Mars, the beach, the shadows, all fell away. Arbiter was alone in the vision, surrounded by ghosts he could never touch, never correct, never forgive.
The real world screamed back into focus as Hydro slammed into Arbiter's flank. His movements were fluid, calculated — shadows writhing like living whips from his form, each step cutting terrain, each spin cleaving red-coded constructs.
Arbiter's hand flicked, summoning a portal behind Hydro — then three more ahead. His voice was calm, almost bored:
"Your shadows are impressive. But irrelevant."
Hydro didn't respond. He sliced forward, cutting the nearest portal into shreds. Arbiter's eyes, faintly visible behind the mask, narrowed.
"You rely on phantoms," Arbiter said. "I deal with reality."
Hydro spun upward, God Eater in a blur, Ghost slicing through Arbiter's red constructs midair.
Arbiter countered with a wall of red syntax spikes. Hydro vaulted off the ground using Shadow Soldiers as springboards, kicking off one giant knight and flipping over the spikes in perfect timing.
"You should have stayed down," Arbiter muttered. "Your resistance is statistically inefficient."
Hydro ignored him, landing behind Arbiter. The mask's right side flinched as a blade struck, a faint crack appearing — almost imperceptible.
Arbiter snarled, reaching for a red-chain whip that lashed out like a snapping tendon. Hydro dodged, shadows spreading across the chain, binding and twisting it midair.
"You—cannot—stop me!" Arbiter shouted, voice fracturing.
Hydro's shadows surged, forming a living wall of soldiers around him, cutting off Arbiter's escape. His generals — Umbrion, Tensilang, Terra, Dreadmaw, Cryzor, Doctor Totem — converged from all directions, pressing Arbiter relentlessly.
Each strike, each swing, each arc of shadow and light collided in a storm of kinetic energy. Sand erupted, water boiled, and the very air vibrated with the force of two beings who refused to yield.
Arbiter ducked a swing from Tensilang, but the blow forced him to stagger. He turned, using Tactical Foresight to teleport behind Hydro — only to slam into Umbrion's broadsword. The force of the strike knocked him forward, mask cracking further along the forehead.
The red syntax shattered, rain of digital sparks showering across the battlefield. Arbiter staggered, uncharacteristically shaken.
"This…" he hissed, one hand clutching his mask, "…cannot be…."
And then it hit him. The battlefield melted. The sand, the shadows, the screaming beasts, Hydro's precise movements — all faded into grey mist.
The Medieval vision returned — clearer, sharper now. Faces he had ignored for centuries stared directly at him. Children he had protected and lost, soldiers he had led, merchants he had bargained with — all gone. All silent. All waiting.
"Godfrey… stop. This isn't who you are…"
The voice was soft, kind, maternal almost, echoing in his fractured mind.
Arbiter whipped around, scanning the battlefield. Hydro had stopped moving, shadows frozen midair, generals standing like statues.
"Who said that?!" Arbiter shouted, voice trembling with anger and confusion. "WHO IS SPEAKING?!"
No reply. Only the whisper of the Red Glitch twisting in the background.
Another figure appeared, closer now. A person from the Medieval vision — face gentle, familiar, hand extended.
"Godfrey… you must stop. This isn't your path. This is not your truth."
The mask split further, a jagged crack racing across his cheek. Arbiter's hands trembled. He clenched them, trying to force the vision away.
"I… I…" he stammered, shouting to no one in particular, "I am the Arbiter! I am the System! I am the—"
"No," the vision cut softly. "You are Godfrey. The one who lived. The one who was kind. The one who…"
Arbiter screamed, fists slamming into the sand, cracking it in wide fractures. His body trembled, glitching violently. He was furious, scared, and confused all at once.
The voice continued, gentle:
"You are not this… destruction. You are better than this."
Arbiter's gaze flicked between the vision and the battlefield. Hydro stood silently, watching — eyes calm, hands at his sides, shadows pulsating lightly. The generals waited, tense, as if even they sensed the fragility creeping into Arbiter.
"Godfrey…?" he whispered, almost cracking.
"Is that… who I really am…?"
The words hung in the air.
The ground shuddered like it wanted to vomit itself into the ocean.
The sand cracked, buildings shivered, and the sky — normally calm over the beach — rippled with unstable color like a corrupted screen.
Hydro stood at the edge of the battlefield, arms spread, shadows crawling at his feet. His generals — Umbrion, Tensilang, Terra, Dreadmaw, Cryzor, Doctor Totem — circled him, tense and waiting.
From a distance, Bea's eyes widened. She gripped Mother Dear as if it could stop tectonic plates from splitting.
"What… what is happening?" she yelled, voice trembling. Her hair whipped in the chaotic wind.
Kai staggered, scanning the horizon. "It's not just Arbiter… the island… everything's—"
The ground split beneath them. A crater opened under one of the food stalls. Red-glitch energy spiraled into the sky. The very air vibrated like a living entity groaning.
"Hydro…" Atlarus whispered, dread in her voice. "He's doing something insane."
Terry clutched her gauntlet, teeth gritted. "He can't… stop it. We're gonna get crushed if we don't move."
"Not without him," Bea snapped, shoving herself forward. "We stay. We fight. Or we don't leave."
The others exchanged glances, torn between fear and loyalty.
Mina hid behind Kristine, wide-eyed. "Is… is Hydro going to be okay?"
Kristine shook her head slowly. "I hope… we just have to trust him. He knows what he's doing."
Back at the center of the chaos, Arbiter — Godfrey — levitated, aura flaring, mask cracking further. He was no longer just a man fighting — he was the embodiment of glitch, wrath, and fractured memory.
"I… must finish. What I have TO DO!" he shouted, voice booming across the island. Each word made the earth tremble, buildings sway, trees snap.
From nowhere, a soft, human figure appeared. A woman, gentle and kind. Her eyes glimmered with light that felt impossible in the corrupted world Arbiter had created.
She stepped forward, reaching for his arm.
"Please… stop. Please, Godfrey. You don't have to do this," she begged, voice quivering.
Arbiter spun, fury flaring. "Who are you?!" he demanded. "Step back! I will not… I cannot be stopped!"
She held onto his hand tighter. "Let me… help you. You don't have to fight alone. Please…"
Arbiter's red aura flickered violently. His mask cracked wider. "Let go!" he shouted. "I will… kill Hydro! Kill them all if I must!"
"Why?" the woman whispered, eyes brimming with tears. "Why must you hurt them? Why all of this?"
Arbiter staggered, confused, face flickering between rage and memory. He barely whispered to himself, "…Kill…? D—did I—did I want humanity extinct?"
The woman's grip tightened, soft and pleading. "No… it's not your path. You don't have to destroy to be strong. You… can choose another way."
Arbiter's aura pulsed violently, almost like it was trembling in fear. He shouted:
"NO! Because… if I'm not strong, I cannot bring it back! I will cure this world!"
The world blurred. Arbiter's red aura melded with the mist of memory.
Suddenly, he was a boy again. Not Arbiter. Not God-complex Glitch Demon. Just Godfrey.
He watched from the edge of a village field. Children ran laughing through sunlit streets. Their shoes kicked up dust. They played simple games, chasing a wooden ball across uneven cobblestone.
Godfrey sat on a bench, chest tight with a strange ache — happiness he didn't understand. He smiled quietly. He didn't fight anyone. No one yelled. No one died. The world was… simple. Perfect, even in its quiet ordinariness.
He remembered how he wanted to be strong, how he wanted to join the clan despite being young. The exhilaration of matching opponents blow for blow, earning respect, even if it worried his parents. He remembered their voices calling him home when he lingered too long on the field.
He remembered the first fight he lost, the fear in his stomach, the pride burning away his tears afterward. How every scar reminded him he was alive.
The memory shifted.
He was in the cemetery, small hands clutching a crumpled letter. The air smelled of wet earth and moss.
His father's headstone rose before him. Godfrey knelt, trembling.
The letter read:
"Dear Godfrey, live a righteous life. You can still change. Risking your life on the line by fighting monsters this young will risk your family being worried. But if you want to fight, then fight like I always taught you."
Godfrey's fingers pressed into the cold stone. He whispered into the wind:
"Father… was it right? Was any of this… allowed?"
He felt the warmth of the sun, the weight of the letter, the guilt, and the longing all at once. The pain of his loss was sharp, real. And the memory of a life where he could have just… lived… stung like fire.
Back on the island, the earth quaked violently. People screamed. Merchants fled. Booths and tents collapsed. Waves slammed violently against the shore.
Bea, Kai, Atlarus, Terry, Nate, Yurei, Kristine, and Mina clung to each other as the island literally shook beneath them.
"What… what's happening?!" Bea yelled, panic slicing her voice.
"It's… the Arbiter…" Atlarus whispered. Her eyes followed the flashes in the sky, red code bleeding into the clouds.
Kai gritted her teeth, dragging a tent upright so they wouldn't get buried. "He… he's losing it. Or… he's taking it to the next level."
Terry's gauntlets glinted in the storming light. "We're… staying with him. Hydro… he's not going anywhere. We're not leaving either."
The island split further, sand spraying like shrapnel. The waves crashed against corrupted rocks, forming jagged walls. The red glitch energy spread, touching every surface.
Mina hugged Kristine tighter. "Is… is Hydro okay?"
Kristine shook her head slowly. "Hydro... what is going on there?"
And all the while, the shadow army that Hydro had summoned remained engaged, holding the perimeter, buying every civilian and friend a fraction of time to escape.
The soft, gentle voice echoed again, pulling Arbiter back from the chaos.
"You are Godfrey… remember who you were. This isn't your way."
Arbiter's mask flinched. He glared at the vision, red aura flickering violently. "I… I must finish!" he shouted, though the ferocity in his voice cracked under doubt.
"Please… stop," the woman urged, holding his hand again.
"I… I cannot!" he screamed. "I… must! Hydro… all of them… I will…"
The memory of children playing returned, innocent laughter and dust kicked into the sunlight. The life he had wanted to live, the family he had nearly saved… all intertwined with the monstrous chaos he now wrought.
Godfrey's chest tightened. The mask, the aura, the red code — it all seemed irrelevant in comparison to the life he had glimpsed, the father he had mourned, the happiness he had been denied.
Arbiter stared at the vision, the woman, the fragments of his lost self. His voice was a whisper, raw and trembling:
"Godfrey…? Is… that… who I really am…?"
The island shuddered. Red syntax spiraled into the sky. Waves crashed violently. Civilians screamed. Shadow soldiers held the line. And in the midst of all chaos, a fractured man — Arbiter — stood staring at his reflection in memory, questioning everything he had built and destroyed.
The red glitch still pulsed in Arbiter's vision, but his mind drifted further back — unbidden, relentless. Memories began flooding the fractured man, dragging him through the years before he became Arbiter, before the mask, before the Red Glitch had claimed him.
Hurt and softened, Godfrey walked down a narrow, cobbled street in a small medieval-like town. Dust rose around his boots as sunlight streamed over the low buildings. There was laughter and chatter in the distance, but the peace of the town was soon ruptured by a harsh, guttural yell.
A man was fighting — or rather, brutally beating several men who dared oppose him. Their cries echoed against the stone walls. Godfrey slowed, eyes sharp but calm, recognizing instinctively that the brawl wasn't random. The fighter's face was twisted in anger, yet underneath, it was pained, as if he carried unseen losses that fed his wrath.
Godfrey's attention shifted to a child standing nearby, eyes wide with fear but unmoving. The child's voice rang out over the brawl, trembling yet defiant:
"I… I'm not a bother! I don't need to apologize for anything! If it's for you… for your sake, I'll take whatever punishment you give me. Anything! No matter how bad!"
Godfrey's lips twitched almost imperceptibly. A memory flashed of his own stubborn youth — the weight of responsibility, the need to prove himself, the echoes of a father's disapproval that never came.
The man, catching his breath from throwing a barrage of men aside, turned toward Godfrey, recognition dawning. His expression softened, though his body remained ready.
"You," the man said, voice low but firm, "you show… promise. I'm impressed by your skill, fighting bare-handed like that. But more than that… I see something. Finally. The one I've been searching for… Godfrey."
Arbiter's pulse quickened. The memory stirred something long buried — an echo of the man's gaze, the weight behind his words. Arbiter wondered, Who am I now? Who was I then?
Godfrey's hand twitched instinctively, ready to strike if needed. Yet he remained calm, though wary.
The man stepped closer, eyes steady. "Would you… consider coming to my clan? I have no members, but you… I think you could help us rebuild."
Godfrey's voice was soft, almost dismissive, but carried quiet authority. "I'm willing to fight… but this… this has nothing to do with me."
The man's brows furrowed. "I saw you fight last time. Godfrey. It's time. It's time you are reborn."
With a smooth, sudden motion, he assumed a fighting stance — deliberate, precise, emanating control.
Godfrey's instincts snapped. He lunged forward, precise but with hesitation in his steps, the reflexive confusion of a young boy suddenly pressed into a combat he had only practiced in bursts of raw survival.
The man's response was almost theatrical. He threw a rapid flurry of punches — dozens in succession — testing Godfrey's agility and reflexes. Each strike was swift, almost impossible to track. Godfrey barely dodged, his body twisting, ducking, and pivoting as he absorbed the rhythm.
Despite the confusion, despite the pounding, Godfrey felt alive. Each breath, each shift in his stance, each dodge — it reminded him of why he had wanted to grow stronger. Why he had trained, endured, and risked so much as a boy.
The man stepped back, a faint smile forming as he observed the boy barely staying on his feet. "Impressive," he murmured, more to himself than to Godfrey. "You have toughness… resilience. Rare for your age. You could go far."
Godfrey's chest heaved, sweat dripping down his forehead. His vision blurred slightly as the fight ended — not in death, not in defeat, but in recognition.
The man extended a hand toward him, no malice left, only a gentle authority. "Come with me. You have potential. I am Reinhart, a teacher of Heavenly Demon Arts. I teach the Snake Style at a Korean dojo. Though… I make my living through odd jobs; the dojo is empty, and my clan has no members. But I see you, Godfrey. I see who you could become."
Godfrey exhaled sharply, muscles trembling from the exertion but refusing to yield. "I… I don't need your dojo. I fight… because it's what I choose. It's not for you. It's not for anyone else."
Reinhart's eyes softened. "You've won… and yet, you do not claim the path I offer. That is… wise. You have agency. You know yourself better than anyone else."
The boy's gaze flickered, eyes scanning Reinhart's expression. "If you need… someone to care for your daughter while you are away, I can assist. But that… is my own choice. Nothing more."
Reinhart nodded, impressed. "I see. Then follow me. I will explain, but you must close the gate behind us."
The walk to the dojo was silent. Godfrey's mind raced — the fight, the recognition, the chance to prove himself outside of mere survival. But he stayed quiet, alert, noting every sound, every shadow, every subtle cue in the man's stride.
Upon arriving, Reinhart's expression softened even further. "This is my daughter, Constance. Her condition… reminds me too much of the life I've lost. My wife… she could not bear it. She drowned herself, burdened by illness, by sorrow. I… I became weak. This… is my duty, but it is also my weakness."
Godfrey listened, absorbing the weight in Reinhart's voice. "Would you want… someone normal, someone capable, to care for her while you are away?"
Reinhart's eyes flickered. "Yes… but I… I see in you something else. You… understand struggle. You've endured pain and emerged alive. That is why I am entrusting this to you."
Godfrey nodded silently, a subtle acknowledgement passing between them. The fight he had endured, the bruises, the struggle, all culminated here — a moment of purpose.
Reinhart continued, "You can bring her to my house for treatment, but you must ensure the gate is closed behind you. Safety is everything."
Godfrey followed, muscles tense but obedient, stepping carefully, aware of every potential threat.
Alone with him, Constance looked up, eyes wide and concerned. "Are you okay? You look hurt…"
Godfrey's lips twitched in a faint smile, eyes reflecting both exhaustion and determination. "I can manage. I will bring you safely home for treatment."
Arbiter, watching from the twisted red-glitch battlefield, felt a pang of recognition and disgust. The reflection of this boy — his younger self — was everything he had lost, everything he could have been, and everything Hydro reminded him of.
His voice cracked internally: My worthless life… it's been nothing but lies.
The dojo doors closed softly behind Godfrey, and the young boy's shadow fell across the wooden floor. He bent slightly, tending to Constance with careful hands, and Arbiter could only watch, the echoes of memory flooding him in the midst of his chaotic battle.
The door creaked open, sunlight spilling across the wooden floorboards. Godfrey stepped in, supporting Constance gently by the arm, careful not to aggravate her condition. The household froze — Godfrey's remaining family members, older siblings, and assistants alike, all wide-eyed, mouths half-open.
"Godfrey?" one of them stammered. "Who… who is this?"
Godfrey straightened, voice calm but resolute. "This young lady… she has a serious condition. I brought her here. She must be taken care of properly. I will stay for the night — perhaps longer, if her illness requires it."
Constance's pale face flushed slightly. She whispered, barely audible, "I… thank you."
Reinhart stepped forward from the shadows, concern etched on his face. "Godfrey… are you certain? This isn't a minor matter. Her illness…"
"She needs help," Godfrey replied firmly. "I will make sure she is safe. That is enough for now."
The family hesitated. Some began moving supplies — blankets, medicine, food — into the small room where Constance would stay. Godfrey oversaw it, checking her pulse, adjusting her blankets, ensuring she was comfortable. The air was thick with tension, worry, and unspoken questions.
"Thank you," Reinhart said softly, after a pause. "I… I can't tell you how much this means."
Godfrey's gaze was steady. "This is the right thing to do. That is enough."
DAYS OF TRAINING AND GROWTH
Days turned into weeks. Constance's condition improved under Godfrey's attentive care, her cheeks regaining color, her laughter slowly returning to the dojo.
But Godfrey did not rest. Early in the mornings, before the first light touched the roof tiles, he practiced the Heavenly Demon Arts Reinhart had begun teaching him. His movements became sharper, more fluid, a subtle dark aura clinging to him as he twisted and struck, mimicking strikes Reinhart had once demonstrated.
Reinhart watched silently, a faint smile on his face. "You're adapting faster than I anticipated. But remember — strength is not only in skill. It's in intent. In purpose. In protecting those who cannot defend themselves."
Godfrey's fists clenched. "I understand. I will grow strong. Not for power, not for recognition, but to protect those who cannot."
And so, day after day, he trained. Rain or shine, heat or storm, he honed his body and mind, learning not only martial skill but discipline, patience, and restraint. His dark aura was there, yes, but it was tempered with a quiet purpose, never unleashed on those who did not deserve it.
YEARS LATER — ADOLESCENCE AND PROMISES
Years passed. Godfrey was eighteen. Constance had grown into a bright, sixteen-year-old girl. Her illness had faded into memory. She laughed freely, eager to help in the dojo, practicing forms alongside Godfrey, eager to take care of villagers and the sick.
One afternoon, Reinhart called Godfrey to the main room. His voice carried an unusual weight. "Godfrey… I have been observing you. Your dedication, your skill, your character. You have grown beyond what I imagined. I have a proposition for you."
Godfrey's brow furrowed. "A proposition, sir?"
Reinhart smiled faintly, eyes softening. "I would like you to become the successor to this dojo. To carry on the Snake Style, to guide others as you have been guided. And… I want you to understand — Constance has taken a special liking to you. She… helped the sick here in the village. She respects your dedication. She… admires you."
Godfrey froze, the words catching him off guard. He had never imagined himself in a position like this — branded as a doctor, a protector, and now, someone liked… truly liked by someone he respected and cared for deeply.
"I… I…" Godfrey struggled to find words. "I never… I never imagined…"
Reinhart nodded, quietly letting him collect his thoughts. "This is your path. Your choice. But know that you are capable of living the righteous life your father once asked for."
Godfrey bowed deeply, feeling the weight of gratitude and responsibility. "Thank you… sir. I… I will give my life to protect Constance and this dojo. I swear it."
And in that moment, Godfrey allowed himself a quiet thought — that for the first time, he had a future, a purpose. A hope.
Not long after, Godfrey visited his father's grave, carefully kneeling before the headstone. "Father… I am… I am doing what you asked. I have trained. I am capable. And… I am to be married soon. I hope you would approve…"
As he returned to the village, a terrible premonition gripped him. People were running, screaming, chaos erupting from the front of the dojo. Doctors and dojo members fled in terror, but their faces, twisted with fear, spoke volumes.
"What… what is happening?" Godfrey demanded.
A villager, trembling, replied: "The Red Glitch… it… it came. They… they're attacking!"
The air rippled unnaturally. Godfrey's chest tightened. His mind raced — his family, Constance, Reinhart… they were inside.
He dashed forward, ignoring the villagers' pleas to stay back. He reached the dojo and froze. Flames consumed the building. Smoke spiraled into the sky, thick and suffocating.
Through the flames, bodies lay scattered. Reinhart… Constance… even the rest of his family. They were gone, lifeless.
Godfrey's knees buckled. His hands trembled. The smell of smoke and burnt wood mingled with something far worse — the sensation of failure, of helplessness, of promises broken.
"I… I… I swore I would protect you…" he whispered, voice choked with grief. His fists pounded the scorched floor. "I promised! I promised!"
A falling pillar struck his head. He collapsed, unconscious, a deep bruise forming. Yet even as darkness took him, he recalled a moment he had shared with Constance — a memory of fireworks.
CONSTANCE'S FINAL MEMORY.
He saw her small face illuminated by the soft, flickering light. She had turned to him with a smile.
"Do you remember when we talked about seeing fireworks next year?" she had asked softly.
Godfrey nodded faintly, smiling back. "I… I do. We'll see them again."
She laughed quietly. "Even a tiny memory like that makes me happy. Because… even when I can't see the next year, you told me I could. You… you made it real."
Her eyes glimmered with fragile hope. "Will you… be my husband?"
Godfrey took her hand, gripping it firmly. "Yes… I will. I will become stronger than anyone, and protect you for life."
But in the present, amidst the flames and loss, Godfrey's voice cracked. Bitterly, he muttered to himself:
"I… I never lived up to my promise. Never… not once…"
The world blurred. The fire consumed everything. Arbiter's psyche trembled, and the Red Glitch that would later define his fate seemed almost inevitable.
The dojo was a furnace of crackling flames. Smoke clawed at Godfrey's lungs, thick and suffocating, making every breath an agony. The air shimmered with heat and despair. Amidst the chaos, his eyes found her — Constance, lying lifeless on the scorched floor, her once-bright eyes now dimmed to pale pools of nothing. Her small hand twitched ever so slightly, but the life he had nurtured, the hope that had blossomed over years of care and protection, seemed utterly gone.
"No… no, this can't… it can't be happening," he whispered hoarsely, choking on smoke, tears streaking down his face. His knees buckled, burning wood and debris crashing around him. His body shook with exhaustion and grief, but he forced himself forward.
"I'm sorry… Constance. I… I failed you. I failed everyone," he muttered, the words barely audible over the roar of the inferno. "I… I don't want to live in this world… if it's without you."
He collapsed, smoke stinging his eyes, blood running down a deep gash across his forehead. The darkness pressed in around him. His vision blurred. His limbs felt heavy, as if the weight of the world was pressing him into the scorched floor. He thought, This is it… the end. I've nothing left. Nothing to fight for. Nothing to hope for…
And then, from the shadows of the collapsing roof, a presence emerged. A strange, unnatural chill slithered through the inferno. The smoke seemed to part, forming an almost solid figure in the center of the chaos. And there it was — a mask, suspended in midair, glowing faintly with golden cracks that pulsed like a heartbeat in the darkness.
"You… you are not gonna die today, little man," the Mask said, voice dripping with authority, fear, and something alien, almost divine. "I have arrived to take what's lost. The only thing you have left is your soul… and that belongs to me."
Godfrey blinked through tears and coughing, his mind racing, trying to comprehend what he saw. "W… who… what… are you?" he stammered, weak, trembling, crawling forward on scorched floorboards.
The Mask tilted slightly, as if amused. "Who am I? Let's just say I'm God; your God… at least, the only God that's listening right now."
Godfrey's lips trembled. "God…? But… why… why me? Why here? Why now?"
The Mask's golden eyes gleamed from its empty sockets. "What do I want? Ah… the same as any other God. A little faith… nothing more. Without faith, I am nothing. Without me, you are done. You do not have to die. Not yet."
Godfrey shook, coughing, smoke burning his lungs. "Faith… for… you?"
"Me?" the Mask hissed softly, almost whispering. "Yes… you. Only you can. I can help you, little one. I can heal your wounds, mend your broken body… even save her. But first, you must show me faith. That's all. Just… trust me."
Godfrey's trembling hands stretched forward, barely strong enough to lift himself. His vision blurred, but something in the Mask's voice — something commanding, yet comforting — forced him to focus. He reached out, fingers brushing the edge of it. The Mask hovered closer, golden light spilling into the smoke, illuminating the scars across his face, the ash on his clothes, the hopelessness in his eyes.
"You… you can help her?" Godfrey whispered hoarsely.
"Yes," the Mask replied. "I can save what you hold dear… if you put your trust in me. If you place me on your face."
The words resonated in him, strange and alien. Hope, long buried under the weight of grief and despair, flickered. It was small, almost imperceptible, but it was there.
Godfrey's trembling fingers wrapped around the Mask. He held it up to his face. "I… I trust you… if it means… if it means saving her," he said, voice cracking, body trembling. Smoke stung his eyes, heat licked at his back, but he forced himself to push the Mask onto his face.
The instant it touched his skin, the world seemed to shatter and reconstruct simultaneously. A cold fire burned through his veins, strange energies twisting his body, filling him with a sensation he had never known — power, clarity, emptiness, and terror, all at once.
He tried to scream, but no sound came. His vision split into fragments of gold and black. Memories, both real and impossible, began to overlay one another. The dojo, Constance's laughter, Reinhart's words… everything flashed like a distorted dream.
And then… silence.
YEARS PASS — BIRTH OF ARBITER
Time fractured. Years, decades, centuries passed in a blur. Godfrey's body healed, reshaped, and transformed under the influence of the Mask. His memory fractured — only shards of his past lingered, like embers in a cold hearth. Names, faces, faces that should have mattered, blurred into echoes. The warmth of home, the soft smiles of Constance, the steady hand of Reinhart — all dissolved into the void.
The Mask, ever present, whispered into the dark corners of his mind. "You are mine now. Your faith is all you have… all that you can give. With it, I can shape you into the strength you desire. Without it, you are nothing. Alone. Forgotten."
Godfrey — now Arbiter — walked alone across lands and worlds that had forgotten him. Cities rose and fell. Empires crumbled. Hundreds of lives passed under his gaze. He sought strength ceaselessly, chasing it as if it could fill the emptiness where love, family, and purpose had been.
He did not stop. He did not rest. Every act of violence, every conquest, every battle was a hollow echo of his lost humanity. He remembered the Mask's words: Without faith, I am nothing. Without me, you're done.
And so he obeyed, creating, destroying, rewriting reality itself through the Judgment System, through Red Syntax, through reality glitches. He became a god in his own right, yet nothing within him felt godlike. He had no one left to protect, no one left to love, no one left to care for. Only the endless, grinding pursuit of power, and the bitter laughter of memory he no longer fully recognized.
The mask, fused to his being, whispered constantly: "Your soul is mine. Your strength is mine. Your life is mine. All that remains, all that can remain, belongs to me."
Arbiter wandered through realms, through battles that spanned continents and worlds. His enemies were countless, yet none could touch him, and yet none could reach him. He sought meaning in the endless violence, in the shaping and breaking of worlds, in the destruction of mortals and immortals alike.
And deep inside — somewhere under the centuries of memory loss, under the crushing weight of grief and guilt — a single ember remained. A faint, almost imperceptible ache for the life he had once lived. For Constance, for Reinhart, for family, for a home that had been burned to ash.
But it was a whisper beneath the roar of a god. And even as he strode across realities, the Mask whispered back: Do not stop. You are mine. You will be Arbiter. And your story is… a horribly sad, laughable, and ridiculous story. Nothing more.
The Mask's golden glow pulsed against his skin, binding him to its will, shaping him into the relentless being he would become. The fire, the death, the loss of love, the obliteration of home — all of it became the foundation upon which Arbiter would rise. And with every passing century, every act of unspeakable violence, he denounced his past, humanity, and hope as nothing but foolish illusions.
He had become what the Mask demanded. Yet in the farthest reaches of his mind, buried under the centuries of blood, chaos, and cruelty, a fragment of Godfrey lingered — fragile, faint, and almost entirely forgotten.
And that fragment, unseen even by him, was the last trace of the boy who had loved, who had protected, who had hoped...
The air hung heavy with static, the island trembling under the force of Arbiter's presence. Broken fragments of reality floated in jagged fragments around the battlefield, glowing with a sickly red hue from his Atomic Glitch. The scent of ozone and charred earth burned the nostrils of those who dared breathe.
Arbiter's mask — fractured, cracked, gold streaks illuminating the damage — seemed almost alive, twitching as he turned his head slowly toward Hydro and his friends. "You… reminded me," he hissed, voice vibrating with fury and anguish. "Of everything I lost. Of everything I should have protected… of what… I will never have…"
Hydro's eyes widened as he felt the familiar, gnawing pressure of a familiar yet deadly presence. Atomic Glitch. His mind raced as memories flashed — a force capable of decimating even the Predecessor, Noctis. The sky warped, reality bending around Arbiter's form.
Hydro shouted, stepping forward, weapons drawn. "I won't let you—"
But Arbiter was already moving. The world shook violently as shards of distorted energy ripped through the air. Hydro's body twisted mid-leap, narrowly surviving a strike that would have obliterated him. The demon — no, the man — stared down at him, incredulous. "You… you survived that?" Arbiter growled. His aura flared red and black, tendrils of corrupted energy lashing outward.
Hydro raised both God Eater and Ghost, swinging with precision and fury, only for his grip on God Eater to slip. The blade clattered against the fractured ground. Instinctively, he lashed out with a punch. His fist connected with Arbiter's face, sending a shockwave that shattered fragments of terrain and fractured nearby rocks into dust.
For a brief moment, time seemed to slow. Arbiter's mask had shifted, revealing the lower half of his human mouth. A ghost of a smile formed, twisted yet mournful, as if the act of being struck awakened something long buried.
Why did I strike myself? Arbiter thought, confusion and clarity intertwining. The memory of Reinhart — precise, patient, righteous — surfaced. Weak and sickly beings, impatient and fragile, they had always infuriated him. The ones who destroyed things without fighting directly, who left ruin without confrontation… he remembered the first time he had despised weakness. The first time he had crushed someone's bones under his fists.
And yet, here he stood. The system he had become, the Judgment System he had enforced, the Red Syntax, the glitches, the countless lives taken — all were extensions of what he had hated, but all were now warped reflections of Reinhart's teachings, twisted into something violent. His father's voice, the dojo, Constance — all taunting him in echoes. And he finally realized what he must do.
Arbiter's body — fractured, glitching, shattered — staggered under the weight of his own attack. Shockwaves exploded from every punctured wound, scattering debris and twisting the sand around them. Hydro inhaled sharply, eyes widening as Arbiter lifted God Eater in his corrupted grip, impaling himself, poised for something catastrophic.
And yet… the movement stopped. Arbiter inhaled deeply. A faint, almost imperceptible scent reached Hydro's senses. Gratitude — faint, human, almost impossible to believe — emanated from the being that had been Arbiter.
The broken form of Arbiter's body began to repair itself slowly, bits of glitching flesh knitting, golden circuits flickering as the Mask hummed softly. But instead of completing the regeneration, he stopped. The broken body stood, limbs trembling, as though every step carried centuries of grief.
Arbiter's lips — human, soft, yet lined with the scars of centuries — curled faintly. "It's over. For now." His voice cracked like dry wood. "I… I have lost. But… not everything."
The mask hovered near him, whispering incessantly. "Do not stop. You are Arbiter. You will grow stronger. You will not fail. You are mine."
Arbiter shook his head violently. The remnants of Godfrey's humanity — buried beneath centuries of rage, loss, and corruption — surged forward. He took a step, hesitated, and then called out softly, his voice breaking, vulnerable:
"Father… Reinhart… Constance…"
In an impossible moment, the fractured spirit of his family appeared before him. Ghostly yet warm, they looked real — and yet more than memory. His father's voice came first, steady, grounding.
"Godfrey… you've returned. We… we are proud. You have endured far beyond any measure. It's alright… it's over now."
Arbiter's head bowed, tears mixing with the ash on his cheeks. "I… I couldn't… I couldn't save anyone… I couldn't… keep my promise…"
Reinhart stepped forward, holding Godfrey's head gently. "Do not speak such lies. We would never abandon you. No matter the trials, no matter the failures… you are still our child. You have always been ours."
Arbiter's lips trembled. "But… I cannot… I cannot go to heaven… I am… unworthy…"
"Even if you cannot enter heaven," Reinhart replied, voice warm, "we will not abandon you. You will never be alone, Godfrey. Never."
The Mask, sensing weakness, hovered closer, whispering, tempting. Get stronger. Continue fighting. You are Arbiter. Claim what is yours.
Arbiter's hand — unsteady, scarred, trembling — reached out. But this time, it wasn't for power. It was for Constance. Her spirit, glowing softly, materialized beside him. She smiled gently, warm, radiant despite the centuries of tragedy.
"You… have done enough," she said softly. Her hands brushed his cheeks, and the tears flowing freely on his face mirrored the relief and sorrow within her. "You… remember us. You… are back."
Arbiter's lips quivered. The Mask's whispers grew frantic, desperate, insistent. You are Arbiter. You must reclaim strength. You must destroy. You must…
But he ignored it. He ignored the centuries of manipulation, the blood, the rage, the corruption. Godfrey's humanity — fragile, broken, yet impossibly resilient — surged forward. He embraced Constance's spirit, tears streaming uncontrollably.
"I… I'm sorry. I… I failed you. I wasn't there… when you needed me. I couldn't keep my promise… but… I remember. I remember… all of you."
Constance smiled through her own tears. "It's alright… you are back. That's all that matters. Welcome back… my husband."
Arbiter's broken form — once a god of destruction, a system overlord — shivered as the Mask recoiled. Its influence weakened, slipping as the human heart, the boy who had once loved, now fully returned, surged back to the forefront.
With that, the regeneration slowed. The golden, glitching aura faded. The atomic distortions stilled. The battlefield grew quiet, the chaotic tremors subsiding. Godfrey knelt, still holding Constance's spirit, trembling and sobbing, yet alive, human, and finally, free.
For the first time in a century, he breathed without the weight of endless rage and manipulation pressing on his chest. The Mask recoiled, whispering weakly, defeated by something far greater than its influence: love, memory, and the enduring strength of human connection.
Godfrey whispered through choked tears: "I… I am… back."
Constance's voice echoed, warm and gentle: "Welcome home, Godfrey. Welcome back, my husband."
And with that, the world seemed to hold its breath, offering him a fleeting glimpse of hope amidst centuries of pain and loss.
The battlefield was quiet, almost unbearably so. Smoke and ash hung in the air like a memory, the edges of the island jagged where the battle had ripped through reality itself. Magic beasts were gone, either vanished into fading portals or dissipated into the repaired air. Rocks had reformed. Sand shifted back into smooth surfaces. The chaos was settling.
And then Hydro saw it: God Eater lying on the ground, untouched but shining faintly in the residual energy that still hummed through the air. And next to it… the Mask was gone. Arbiter's golden glitches dissolved into faint particles, leaving behind something Hydro hadn't expected to see.
A human face.
The man kneeling, slowly fading, was just a man. His features were soft, familiar in a strange, nostalgic way. His eyes — gold-tinged with a faint memory of the Mask's glow — were tired, but they were alive.
"Y—your… face… my face…" Hydro whispered, breath catching. The words barely left his lips. His mind was reeling.
The man's lips curved faintly, a soft, almost shy laugh escaping him. "You must be seeing things, kid. My name is… Godfrey. Mind if I ask yours?"
Hydro froze, unsure how to respond. This wasn't the Arbiter he had fought. This wasn't the godlike weapon, the corrupted system enforcer, the man who had shattered worlds and rewritten reality. This was… human. Fragile. Real.
"I'm… Hydro, Undergrove," he said slowly, carefully.
Godfrey's eyes softened, and he tilted his head slightly, still flickering in gold glitches as he began to fade. "Hydro, huh… The Protective Living Water. A Sheep in Wolf's Clothing. I… I'm honestly impressed. It's… strange to see someone so strong, yet so human. Honestly… it's afraid I will fade away from everything I've done… but… maybe I deserve that."
Hydro swallowed, uneasy. "It… wasn't you? It was the Mask?"
Godfrey shook his head faintly. "Even if it was the Mask… this body, my hands, my choices… they're mine. Everything that happened, everything I became — it's still me. I would never forgive it either. But… kid… even if our faces were the same… our paths? They're different. You never lost yourself. You never became… me. I am what you could've been… if you slipped, if you had let it consume you. You're the definition of what I wish I'd been — human, but untouched by the darkness that eats at the soul. I'm sorry for what I am."
Hydro didn't answer. Words failed him. Seeing this man, fading before him, the one who could have been a reflection of himself — it was both a relief and a weight he couldn't lift.
Godfrey's smile grew faint, bittersweet. "Goodbye, Hydro. I'm proud of you… more than I can say."
And then, he began to dissolve. Not violently, not like a magical attack, but slowly — gold particles drifting away from him, mixing with the lingering energy of the battlefield. Hydro's chest tightened. He wanted to reach out, to stop it, but he couldn't.
The particles moved with purpose. They swept across the ruins, reconstructing the destroyed surfaces, smoothing out the jagged edges of the island, the broken booths, the shattered streets. Residual portals drew in the remaining magic beasts, closing cleanly, sucking them back into the folds of reality. The particles glimmered and exploded softly — not destructively, but with a bright, luminous energy that fixed everything, made it more vibrant, more alive than before. Hydro could see people returning, humans and fictional species alike, some cheering softly, some quietly picking up pieces of their world.
Hydro's eyes were fixed on God Eater. The sword seemed to hum faintly in the restored light, as if it remembered its owner. And for a moment, he saw Godfrey — not as a weapon, not as a system or mask, but the man he had been.
Hydro stepped forward slowly, careful, reverent. His hand hovered over the hilt of God Eater, and he whispered, barely audible:
"Nice to finally meet you… Godfrey."
The name felt heavy in his mouth, weighted with the memory of the battles, the lives lost, and the glimpse of what could have been.
The island was silent now, save for the wind rustling across repaired structures and sand. The golden particles of Godfrey's fading presence lingered for a moment, a reminder that even in loss, there was grace — that even when someone becomes a god or a monster, a part of them can still be human, remembered, honored.
Hydro closed his fingers around God Eater's hilt, feeling the weight, the history, the responsibility. The air around him seemed charged — not with destruction, but with quiet, lingering hope.
He exhaled slowly. The battlefield wasn't perfect, but it was alive. The city, the island, his friends — all intact. And somewhere, in the fading remnants of Godfrey's presence, Hydro could feel the echo of humanity preserved, even after centuries of corruption.
He whispered one last time:
"Goodbye, Godfrey. Thank you… for showing me… what not to become."
Hydro's hand tightened around the sword. He looked out over the restored city, the vibrant horizon, and the calm sea beyond. There were still scars, still echoes of the chaos that had happened — but for the first time in a long while, he felt the weight of possibility rather than despair.
And somewhere deep inside, he knew: this wasn't just a victory. It was a lesson, a memory, a warning — a bittersweet reminder of what power, loss, and humanity could mean.
Hydro kneeled, placing God Eater carefully onto the ground. His fingers brushed the hilt again, feeling its history, its weight, its potential.