Cyrus stood rooted to the spot, his mind reeling from the revelation before him. Was this some cruel hallucination, a trick of his grief-stricken mind? Or had he truly passed beyond the veil, only to find himself in a nightmare more twisted than any he could have imagined?

The tense silence was shattered by the Prophet's anguished cry. "Enough, Liam! Your madness ends here!" The old man's voice quavered with a mixture of rage and sorrow that spoke of years of buried pain.

"My little dad," Nemesis—no, Liam—replied with mocking affection. He casually rested his bloodstained blade on his shoulder, sauntering towards his father with predatory grace. "How are your eyes?"

The pieces of a long-buried puzzle suddenly clicked into place in Cyrus's mind. Liam was the Prophet's exiled son, whose portrait had hung in the sacred Soul Passage—a tomb for the honored dead. The Prophet's actions in the Magma Stomach took on new meaning; his reluctance to allow them to ambush Nemesis now painfully clear.

Undeterred by his frail body, the Prophet approached his wayward son. "You have caused enough suffering. You should die," he declared, his voice carrying the weight of judgment.

Liam's face contorted with a mixture of pain and fury. "Suffering? You're my father! You're supposed to love me, not judge me. Just because I transformed some insignificant humans into my subordinates? Everyone does that—the Queen does that!" His rage exploded outward, his blade lashing out and cleaving nearby trees in two with terrifying ease.

The Prophet stood his ground, his voice steady despite his trembling body. "The rules have existed for centuries to ensure our survival. As an Original Bite, you were supposed to obey the rules more than anyone. You know only the leader has the right to transform humans."

As father and son faced each other, Cyrus observed the toll time had taken on the Prophet. The destruction of his canines in the Magma Stomach had accelerated his aging, his once-imposing figure now bent and frail. It was a stark reminder of the Bites' vulnerability—their near-immortality tied to those precious fangs.

The pieces continued to fall into place in Cyrus's mind. The golden hair that marked those with the power to lead and transform humans into Bites—Lionore, the old leader, Leora, the Queen, and now Liam. The Prophet's reasoning became clearer, tinged with a desperate love for his son.

Cyrus recalled the Queen's weakness after the death of her created followers in the Magma Stomach. The harsh reality of their existence became clear—the death of all a Bite's followers meant their own demise was inevitable. Viewed through this lens, the Prophet's actions, cruel as they may have seemed, were born of a father's love.

Liam's voice dripped with bitterness as he continued his tirade. "They were just humans, and I am your son! Do you mean you don't regret your actions?"

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The Prophet's silent head shake spoke volumes.

"Why didn't you support me?" Liam's voice cracked with long-suppressed emotion. "I admired you. You were respected and loved by all—the great Prophet who could see the future. 'Oh, your father is amazing,' they'd say. 'We admire him.' I took pride in being your son." In a sudden burst of violence, Liam gripped his father's neck, lifting the frail body off the ground.

Gasping for air, the Prophet managed to choke out, "All I wanted was your good. I wanted you to follow the right path. If you really admired me, why then? Why did you follow Lionore?"

Liam's eyes blazed with a mixture of pain and defiance. "He took off the chains the Bite imposed on me. Unlike my father, he didn't spend his days judging me." He raised his sword, poised to strike down his own flesh and blood.

Cyrus, galvanized by the imminent threat to the Prophet—his last hope for regaining his powers—launched himself forward. But before he could reach them, a deafening roar split the night air.

Liam leaped back as an enormous lion materialized before them. Its fur shimmered in the darkness, eyes blazing with regal authority, its very presence exuding raw, primordial power. With a jolt of recognition, Cyrus realized this was no ordinary beast—it was the lion statue from atop the Hall of Justice come to life.

Understanding dawned on him. This was why everyone had been fleeing to the Hall—it wasn't just a sanctuary, but the Bite's ultimate line of defense. What he had dismissed as mere decoration was, in fact, a sleeping guardian of immense power.

Liam, undeterred by the supernatural apparition, charged at the lion. Blade met paw in a thunderous collision, but the outcome was never in doubt. Liam was sent hurtling through the air like a leaf caught in a gale, his body disappearing into the distant horizon.

As he vanished from sight, Liam's parting words hung in the air like a curse: "Let's just see how long it can defend you when the karmic monsters reach this place."

With the immediate threat gone, Cyrus rushed to the Prophet's side. The old man could barely stand, swaying dangerously with each labored breath. "I'm sorry, Cyrus," he wheezed, blood staining his lips. "I think he was right. I have spent my life judging him."

Cyrus stood in silent witness to the Prophet's anguish. The weight of the situation pressed down upon him—this man's son had become Nemesis, the Bureau's merciless executioner. The same son who had blinded his father, killed Neno, and crushed the non-human resistance. Yet still, the Prophet's heart ached with love for his wayward child. Was this the true nature of unconditional paternal love? To forgive the unforgivable?

Pushing aside his own tumultuous emotions, Cyrus focused on the task at hand. "We still have a chance if we act now," he said, his voice steady with newfound resolve.

A ghost of a smile flickered across the Prophet's face. "My eyes never betray me, even if I can't see anymore. I have always known you were different." His voice grew softer, tinged with regret. "We can't leave him out there, not after all he's done."

Cyrus nodded, a lump forming in his throat as he walked back to retrieve Neno's lifeless body. Together, the unlikely pair—a powerless hero and a broken prophet—made their way into the Hall of Justice, the spectral lion standing guard at the entrance.

As they crossed the threshold, Cyrus felt the weight of destiny settling upon his shoulders. The next few hours would determine the fate of City Zero and all its inhabitants. Whether facing the relentless karmic monsters or the ruthless Bureau, both adversaries seemed equally formidable. Victory or defeat hung in the balance, impossible to predict.