{The Cornerstone Church is dark. Only the stained-glass windows remain, cracked by time and tinted by flame. Reverend Ezekiel Graves stands at the altar, eyes glowing beneath the low flicker of candlelight. Graves’ voice cuts through the silence.}

You speak in binary, Nero.

Lines of code. Lines of lies. A thousand scripts written to mimic righteousness but even a machine can be trained to preach. What you call truth is just algorithmic confession. A sequence of zeros and ones stitched together by guilt.

And still… it fails.

{He turns, placing a hand on the stone pulpit.}

I’ve seen your kind in every age. Men who call their corruption liberation. Men who steal in the dark and call it justice. You tore the credits from my vault and waved it like prophecy declaring to the masses that the Harbinger had been humbled.

But hear me.

You cannot bankrupt what Heaven sustains.

I did not build this altar on credits. I built it on consequence.

{Graves steps down slowly, robes trailing like shadows across the floor.}

You are the glitch, Nero. The phantom line in corrupted code. A former officer now cloaked in rebellion, dragging the very sins you swore to destroy like chains behind you. You did not defect for justice. You defected for redemption and redemption cannot be hacked.

It must be earned.

{He halts, staring.}

You infect Arcadia with your message. You jack into the veins of this world and call yourself a savior, but you are no messiah. You are a virus spreading doubt, rewiring faith, hijacking belief.

And I am the firewall.

I am not soft flesh. I am not digital. I am Word made thunder, judgment made manifest, the sacred line between holy order and godless revolt. My Lord does not speak in data. He speaks in silence. In storms. In justice that cannot be rerouted or rewritten.

{Graves raises a closed fist.}

You want revolution? You want to rewrite the system?

Then come.

At Kaos, I will not fight you as man fights man. I will stand as the last pure line of code divine, uncorrupted, flawless and I will show you that there are still things beyond your reach. There is still one truth that cannot be deleted.

And when your signal fails…

When your feed crashes…

When every script you wrote to justify your cause burns in holy light—

The last thing you will see…

Is not error.

Is not failure.

It is me.

Standing.

Still powered by faith.

Still fueled by judgment.

Still chosen.

{The Reverend Ezekiel Graves lifts his head, eyes fixed on Heaven.}

This is not rebellion.

This is revelation.

And you, Nero, are not the architect.

You are the malfunction.

And at Kaos… the system resets.