Northern was certain of what he'd just witnessed.
He had just seen Koll eat Dante whole—everything. The clothes, the broken sword… all of it.
Koll turned, spitting out shards of metal with a look of irritation, grumbling under his breath.
"I hate having to do this..."
He walked slowly toward Northern, clinking and crunching with each step as bits of Dante's broken sword fell from his mouth. He spat one final piece with a metallic clang, then paused mid-stride, eyes locking with Northern's stunned gaze.
A wicked smile curled on his lips.
"Why do you look so surprised? If you're even mildly familiar with the Underworld's more... unsavory corners, you should've heard of the Tribe of Gluttony. We were cursed by a certain Origin. Devoured one another... until I was the last."
He chuckled… low, somber, almost hollow.
"Then again, maybe you haven't. That Origin was too ashamed to let the tale spread. Had to bury the sin, right? Wouldn't do for his children to learn the cost of his amusement."
Koll's eyes narrowed as his smile widened, glinting with both mischief and madness. His voice came soft but carried weight.
"Ohhh... don't look at me like I'm some nightmare given flesh. I'm human. Just like you. Cursed at birth by the very man who sired me. A mistake, he called it. I suppose that made the curse justified."
Northern arched a brow, his expression folding into something between suspicion and disbelief.
Koll waved it off, his tone turning suddenly theatrical.
"But enough about me. My grudges don't matter here. What does matter is this— I served Kryos. The Chaos Origin. From his earliest days as a Tyrant. I watched him rise, watched him seize the Throne of Origination. And believe me when I say—no one deserved it more.
"But the Origins feared him. He wasn't like them. And because he didn't pretend to be, they branded him shameless—especially after he ate his own son to ascend."
Koll paused, his smile slipping into a sneer.
"Ironic, isn't it? One of those very Origins did the same—cursed an entire tribe, his mistake, just to erase a blemish on his name."
Northern stared, an unreadable look on his face. There was pity in his eyes. And irritation. But deeper still—skepticism.
"...Must've been tough."
Koll let out a bitter laugh.
"Boy, you have no idea. In the Underworld, the will of the Origins is law. No, more than law—it's truth. Their whims shape the very marrow of existence. They are the Origination of all things, boundless in their reach, with or without the worship of men.
"But a Tyrant? A Tyrant is something else entirely. Born from humanity's will pushed to its breaking point. A will that refuses to stay human. A grotesque anomaly. An error when set beside the 'perfection' of the Origins. And yet—"
He stepped closer, shadows coiling beneath his feet like they answered his words.
"—they couldn't erase us. Couldn't pretend we didn't exist. Tyrants are... inconvenient truths. Too powerful to ignore. Too warped to embrace."
Koll tilted his head, voice growing quieter now, tinged with something like reverence.
"But Kryos... Kryos was a different breed. He was everyone's problem. A scourge even the most powerful Origins wished to erase. Especially after he absorbed his son."
He paused.
"He became too powerful."
Northern watched in silence, absorbing everything Koll said. Each word weighed heavy, but he sifted through them calmly, letting them settle like dust before a storm.
Then he frowned, eyes sharpening.
"What a liar you are..."
Koll raised a brow, amused.
"You think I wouldn't know?"
Northern's voice was even, but the tension beneath it rippled like a taut string.
"That the Origins once united to imprison the Chaos Prince the moment he began reaching toward the Void? And yet here you are, claiming they've never been united by anything?"
Koll scoffed, tossing the thought aside with a wave.
"United? Against the Chaos Prince?"
He laughed dryly.
"Please, spare me. That boy was dangerous, sure, but he was still a child of Kryos and Mathella—an unholy union, yes, but far beneath the concerns of the Origins. You're probably parroting what you read on the murals of the Sun Temple."
His eyes dimmed slightly, shadowed with an old bitterness.
"Let me ask you something, Northern. What do you think rifts are?"
Northern's expression tightened. A flicker of distaste passed his face.
"They're the thin fractures between this Tra-El and the Underworld."
Koll nodded slowly, lips curling in approval.
"Smart. You're well-informed. But what is that fracture really? Why do you think I can just—"
He snapped his fingers, sharp and abrupt.
"—and boom! A rift opens. Leviathan's hand crawling through it like a child scratching at the womb?"
Northern's frown deepened.
"I'm just as curious as you are. How the hell can you do that?"
Koll shrugged nonchalantly.
"Technically, I can't create rifts. Nobody can. But I can weaken the barrier that separates your world from thin fracture. Find the weaker threads of the Weave... snap one here, tear one there—and the pressure from beyond forces the rift open."
Northern's grimace turned cold, his expression darkening.
Koll paid it no mind and kept talking, voice smooth, deliberate.
"Yes, Northern. This world. This beautiful world you cling to—it's crumbling. A fragmented shell. Ul is doing everything she can to hold it together. Every inch of stability you feel is borrowed from her will."
Northern glanced around with a faint smile, eyes sweeping the open air.
"Well... she's doing a pretty good job, I'd say. Fewer rifts are opening these days."
Koll leaned in slightly, that cunning grin spreading wide across his face.
"You... think so?"
Northern looked at him, frowning once more.
"What do you mean?"
"Think about it, Northern."
Koll said, resuming his slow stride, hands tucked behind his back.
"Two worlds, separated by a thin and volatile fracture. That fracture… it's growing. Eating away at the past of both realms. Spreading wider. Heavier. The pressure it builds is immense. And yet, there's this little girl—from one of these worlds—wielding the power of dead stars to keep the fracture from seeping into hers."
He paused, glancing sidelong at Northern.
"What do you think happens when that pressure keeps climbing?"
Northern exhaled slowly.
"It'll spill into the Underworld."
Koll nodded.
"Correct. That's consequence one. Now, consequence two: because those in the Underworld—humans, creatures, even the worst of them—are forced to live under that rising calamity, they grow stronger. Hardened. Meanwhile, you lot... are sheltered. Protected by a child.
"And consequence three: even with all her effort, all her struggle, the pressure doesn't stop. It still leaks through. Like trying to slam a lid down on a boiling pot—the steam keeps pushing out from the edges."
He stopped, turned, and stared at Northern with deliberate intensity.
"Did you know the continents at the edge of your world are far stronger than the Central Plains?"
A breath. Then a quiet sigh.
"Dante... was right in one way. But he was wrong in another. The real problem was never the government. The problem was Ul—and her childish ambition of protecting everyone from harm."
Northern's expression darkened. Slowly, silence crept in before he answered, voice low.
"Still... she meant well."
"Indeed she did, Northern. Just as Dante did. But look around you—this city, once vibrant, full of light and laughter... reduced to rubble. Burned down by good intentions."
Koll stepped closer, eyes gleaming.
"Aren't you even the slightest bit curious… what may become of your precious world, when those same intentions finally fail?"