The Broken Halo

How did Simon know the name of the god that owned the divinity?

It was simple.

The divinity belonged to one of the bastards who had stabbed him in the back.

For a moment, the ruined command chamber disappeared from Simon’s sight.

He saw six figures surrounding him in the air. He felt weapons buried in his dying body, blood gathering beneath his knees, and a gun pointed at his head by someone who had once called him Master.

Among those six had been the one later known as the Radiant Judge.

A cold light passed through Simon’s sky-blue eyes.

He had not been completely certain when Sunshear’s laser pierced his shoulder. The divinity inside it had been diluted until only a thin trace remained, then buried beneath Order runes, severance runes, and the weapon’s own formations.

Still, divinity could not entirely hide its origin.

Its nature remained.

Its Will remained.

And Simon had once stood close enough to that power to recognise the feeling it left behind.

He had been ninety percent certain, and Varga’s reaction had supplied the remaining ten.

The commander’s pupils had contracted the instant Simon spoke the title. His rage had vanished, and the question that escaped him had contained too much shock to be false.

The Radiant Judge.

There was no longer any doubt.

Killing intent flashed through Simon’s eyes before disappearing so quickly that Varga wondered whether he had imagined it.

”How do you know that?” Varga asked again.

Simon remained silent.

Varga’s breathing became rougher. His gaze moved from Simon’s face to the Chaos Blade pinning his palm, then back again.

”Who are you?”

Simon did not answer.

”An Archfiend should not be able to tell one god’s divinity from another,” Varga said. The fear in his voice was becoming more difficult to hide. ”At your rank, you should only know that it is divine. You should not recognise its owner from such a diluted trace.”

His eyes narrowed.

”And you spoke the Radiant Judge’s title.”

The blood beneath Varga’s hand continued spreading.

”A demon who is not a Demon King, or a powerful Demon Lord at the very least, should not be able to speak a god’s title so casually. There should have been judgement. Your soul should have trembled. Your Demon Heart should have reacted and you should be writhing in agony right now.”

Nothing had happened.

Simon had spoken the title as though he were naming an ordinary person.

Varga’s voice rose.

”You knew Sunshear’s name before anyone told you! You recognised the divinity inside it! What in the world are you?!”

Simon regarded him without answering.

Varga was not wrong about the weight carried by titles.

The title of a Demi-God was not merely a collection of words. It carried recognition, authority, karma, and a fragment of the path its owner had completed and was still transversing to reach true godhood.

A god’s title possessed an even greater weight.

For weak demons, speaking such titles could attract the attention of the power behind them.

Sometimes the result was no more than pressure upon the soul.

Sometimes their Chaos Flame shook, their Demon Heart suffered, or their demonic energy became difficult to control.

And sometimes, if the title’s owner was immensely hostile toward demons, or the demon spoke with sufficient disrespect, the backlash could become a form of judgement.

Only powerful Demon Lords and Demon Kings could usually bear that weight without concern.

Simon was neither. At least, not in this life.

But the soul inside his demonic body had once reached the Demi-God rank. Death had changed his body, but it had not erased the long history carved into his soul.

He still possessed Seven Stars, a Divine Blessing granted by the Nameless One, and his entire existence stood somewhere between human and demon.

A human soul.

A demonic body.

A Blessing and a Chaos Flame existing within the same being.

The laws governing titles could not treat him like an ordinary Archfiend.

There was another contradiction Simon had noticed during his previous life.

A weak demon could suffer for speaking the title of a Demi-God or god. Yet even the weakest human could scream the title of a Demon King without fearing similar punishment.

The explanation Simon had been given was that humans rarely spoke a Demon King’s title with reverence.

They spoke it with fear.

Hatred.

Despair.

Rage.

Those negative emotions were beneficial to demons, so Demon Kings had little reason to punish the humans producing them.

It was a sensible explanation, but Simon had never believed it was the complete one.

There were deeper differences between Blessings, Chaos, gods, and demons- differences humanity had understood poorly even during his lifetime.

He pushed those thoughts aside.

As for Sunshear, its name had not been difficult to recognise for Simon cause he was familiar with the weapon.

The Radiant Judge and another one of Simon’s former comrades had begun developing it years before his death.

Back then, Sunshear had been little more than an unfinished weapon and several unstable theories. Its shape had been different. Its attacks had lacked the current speed, targeting formations, and severance runes. Even its use of divinity had still been at an experimental stage.

What stood outside Ironcrest was vastly more advanced, but the principle remained familiar.

Concentrated light.

Minimal wasted power.

Divinity merged with Order runes to penetrate demonic defences.

The moment Simon understood what the weapon was, he also understood why its name had never changed.

That familiarity was why he had cut Sunshear a second time.

He hated his past comrades, and the weapon reminded him of them.

Also, destroying its mouth would stop it temporarily.

Splitting the barrel and its structure in half made certain no Runemaster or artisan could restore the weapon while Assault Core Seventeen remained at Ironcrest.

Varga searched Simon’s expression for an answer and found nothing.

”You know things no demon should know,” he whispered.

Simon placed one hand around the hilt of the Chaos Blade, and Varga’s face paled.

”You asked who I am.”

Simon pulled the blade free from the commander’s palm.

Blood burst from the wound as Varga screamed, but the sound ended when the black sword rested against his neck.

Simon’s expression remained cold.

”Call me Broken Halo.”

The Chaos Blade moved before Varga could respond to the blasphemous title.

His head rolled across the blood-covered floor.