Fate: But This Is Not Solomon I Know!

Domrémy – Jeanne d'Arc's Hometown.

Zoth stepped through the [Book Gates].

The fading sunlight smeared across his figure like watercolors on worn parchment, casting shimmering outlines — a lonely mirage lost within a world long past.

Ahead, Gilles was already waiting.

His eyes were sunken, face gaunt, worn down by countless sleepless nights.

When he saw Zoth, he said nothing — just gave a small nod, then spoke, voice heavy like smelted iron.

Every word laced with the scent of gunpowder and smoldering sorrow.

"She… Jeanne… tried to break free at Compiègne."

"But the Bourgogne forces captured her. She tried to escape… but failed."

Zoth didn't respond.

He stood still.

Brows furrowed, his eyes glinting with something unreadable — caught between anger… and guilt.

He already knew.

Knew all too well.

This was a tragedy etched into the bones of history, never forgotten.

But perhaps…

After those quiet, uneventful days at the Clock Tower...

He had let himself forget — that tragedies never truly end.

They only wait in the shadows… biding their time, until they pierce your heart with a smile carved from lies.

Zoth clenched his fists.

The wind stirred.

Strands of his hair lifted like ash in a fading flame.

No more words were exchanged — nothing else needed to be said.

He turned to Gilles, leaving behind only a single, carved promise:

"If I find her…

I'll bring her home.

Back to Domrémy."

And with that, he walked away.

Alone.

Down a narrow dirt path — uneven, worn with old ruts left by long-departed wagons.

No songs.

No church bells.

Only silence — thick and heavy, like a grave waiting to be filled.

In Zoth's mind…

Only one thought remained.

Judgment.

Yes — they would all answer.

Every last one who had stained this tragedy with their hands.

All those who betrayed the purity, the trust, and the ideals Jeanne had paid for… with her blood, her soul, and her unwavering light.

Without mercy.

Without fanfare.

Without turning back.

Let fire cleanse what was broken.

And let the shadows scatter — before the sentence he was about to deliver.

---

The English Army Camp – A Day Like Any Other.

"Haha!

Greetings… you poor, pitiful knights of England!"

A piercing laugh — sharp as steel scraping iron — tore through the calm, thunder booming across a cloudless sky.

The once-peaceful camp… shattered.

"My name is Zoth Vari-El…

And I have only one question."

He smiled — wide, too wide.

And raised Caladbolg.

[BOOOOM—!!!]

The ground ruptured beneath him.

In a single instant, the entire camp detonated — tents torn asunder, stone pillars flung skyward. A shockwave cracked through the earth like a divine hammer.

From the heart of the blazing whirlwind, Zoth roared — not with hatred, but with something far colder:

"Do you feel it now…?"

"This… this is only a glimpse of what Jeannette — and your knights — endured…"

"When you desecrated this land with your filthy blades and hollow crowns."

He moved through the chaos like a specter.

With a single hand, he seized the nearest soldier — lifting him as if he weighed nothing.

"Tell me…

Where. Is. Jeanne d'Arc?"

The man shook, lips quivering, eyes bulging with fear.

"Sh-she… she was taken… to the Inquisition's Court… p-please… I beg you…"

Zoth narrowed his eyes.

His smile softened.

But his gaze — froze like a tomb.

And then — he struck.

Swift. Precise.

Without hesitation. Without cruelty.

Just… finality.

The world didn't even scream.

It simply fell silent.

Because now...

Zoth was no longer a man.

The force within him — [Omni Force] — gnawed at his mind, eroding reason with the burn of True Ether.

Reality around him flickered, space itself letting out an invisible wail.

But he didn't care.

Nothing remained to hold onto.

No line between right and wrong.

Only the cold march of justice rewritten by pain.

"Well then…"

"It's time."

He drew forth a red-white Wonder Ride Book from within his long coat — and opened the first chapter of madness.

[Omni Force!]

[When ten Sacred Swords and nineteen Wonder Ride Books are united... A new Chronicle begins — one of the Demon God.]

Zoth clicked the False • Omni Force Chronicle into the [Doom Driver Buckle].

He looked skyward —

Not to pray.

But to declare war.

"HENSHIN—!!"

[Open The Omnimus!]

[Force Of The God!]

[Kamen Rider… Solomon!]

[Fear Is Coming Soon…]

A radiant suit of silver and gold slammed down into the battlefield.

Each armor plate shimmered with blood-red runes, tracing paths like divine circuitry across a fallen god's body.

Twin compound eyes blazed like stars on the verge of collapse.

The horned helm no longer shone with honor —

It was a curse aimed at the heavens.

Kamen Rider Solomon had returned.

Beautiful. Merciless. Holy. Rebellious.

Black smoke — Omni Ether — poured from him, cloaking the battlefield in crimson twilight, as if judgment had come in the form of ash and shadow.

Zoth walked forward.

The cloak trailing behind.

Caladbolg pulsing with wrath.

From within the helmet, a click echoed — his neck twisting slowly, like a beast preparing to hunt.

His breathing was heavy.

Not from exhaustion —

But because his rage had reached its final form.

And then… he vanished — into smoke.

No longer a man.

Now, a wrath given shape.

For now…

There was only one truth that mattered:

He would destroy anyone —

Anyone who dared lay a hand on her.

---

Rouen – The Inquisition Court.

Jeanne d'Arc was dragged to the judgment stand.

Cold iron chains bit into her wrists, carving deep red marks into her pale, slender skin.

On either side of her, those cloaked in the facade of "justice" sat in silence—

Rows of vultures in human skin.

Above them, the judges in white robes — supposedly bearing the symbol of "Divine Will" —

Yet in their eyes… only cowardice, rot, and hypocrisy festered.

"Jeanne d'Arc."

"You stand accused of the following crimes: heresy through wearing men's clothing, practicing witchcraft, disobedience to the Holy Church, and suspicion of being a sorceress..."

The voice of Pierre Cauchon rang out like a cold, blunted blade —

Thin. Icy. Contemptuous.

"Do you have anything to say in your defense?"

But no one in that courtroom sought truth.

This was never a trial.

It was a prewritten execution.

Jeanne lowered her head.

Her heart — heavy not with fear.

But with betrayal.

The kind of pain that only comes

When those you fought for… turn away.

She had done no wrong.

She only wished to save France.

And now…

"Justice" had shackled her as the criminal.

Pierre's voice cut through again —

A sentence handed down from devils cloaked in heaven's robes:

"Jeanne d'Arc.

You are found guilty of heresy.

In two days' time — you shall be burned at the stake."

And then—

"Try laying a hand on her—

If you value your miserable lives."

A voice spoke.

Deep. Clear. Drenched in pride and wrath.

It echoed like thunder torn straight from the abyss.

The courtroom froze.

Black mist poured through the cracks in reality itself.

The air distorted —

As if the world's mirror had just been shattered by a fist.

Electric arcs — jagged and black — slashed across the atmosphere.

From within that storm…

A silver-and-gold figure emerged.

[Kamen Rider Solomon.]

A vision of divine judgment.

No one could breathe.

"Who are you to defy the Holy Cour—?!"

A knight roared, charging recklessly—

He didn't finish his sentence.

[SLASH—!!]

He was cleaved in half.

No scream. Just the dull thud of flesh falling to stone.

Blood sprayed across Pierre Cauchon's once-pristine robes.

Zoth stepped forth from the smoke.

Each step like a blade pressing deeper into fate itself.

His gaze behind the helmet…

Wasn't fury.

It was tenderness —

For one person, and one person alone.

"Jeannette.

I've returned."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Even the sound of her chains hitting the floor rang like church bells.

Zoth raised Caladbolg —

And cleaved her shackles away with a single motion.

Then, he opened a glowing [Book Gate] behind them.

Jeanne stared, eyes wide — unable to believe.

"Zoth!? Why are you—!?"

"Long story."

"Gilles asked me to come get you."

"Now — let's leave this cursed place behind."

Without waiting for approval, Zoth gently picked her up in his arms.

She struggled a little, her cheeks reddening…

But then, she fell still.

Her body weak. Her heart — far too shattered to resist.

As they passed through the portal, Zoth cast one final glance at the judges—

His voice was quiet.

But each word struck like a divine curse:

"And one more thing…"

"I'll be back for the rest of you.

Start washing your necks."

---

Domrémy – Jeanne d'Arc's Hometown.

Zoth gently set Jeanne down upon the grass.

The golden sunset bathed them in its fading warmth…

But it couldn't soothe anything anymore.

Then—

He pinched her cheek.

"Jeannette.

Could you stop scaring me out of my mind for once?"

"You always gamble with your life... I nearly went mad worrying about you."

"I-I'm sorry..."

Jeanne whispered, trying to pull away—

But Zoth's hands wouldn't let go.

Not out of strength…

But out of fear.

Fear of losing her again.

A voice called from behind.

"Jeanne!! Are you alright!?"

Gilles ran to them, eyes widening with fury the moment he saw the red marks on her wrists.

He turned to Zoth, fists clenched:

"Zoth… thank you.

For saving her. For everything.

And please — slaughter every last one of those rats."

Zoth exhaled deeply.

[True Ether] leaked from his armor like black blood.

Reality twisted around him — as if space itself were burning.

"I'm angrier than you'll ever be, Gilles…"

Jeanne stepped forward, gently placing her hand on Zoth's.

Trying to pull him back.

"Zoth… I know you're hurting. But... they're still—"

"Do you still not get it!?"

Zoth snapped.

His eyes flared on helmet like the gates of hell.

Red. Blazing. And unraveling.

"They wanted to burn you alive. Like garbage."

"They're not human, Jeannette!!"

[True Ether] tore through his sanity.

His mind, rotting under grief, betrayal, and a shattered hope—

Only one thing remained:

Retribution.

"No more words.

I've made up my mind."

He turned to Gilles.

His voice — dry as ashes.

"Watch over her. I have work to do."

Gilles didn't argue.

He tightened his grip on his sword, nodding once.

"I understand.

This isn't the time for morals."

"Only blood... can wash away blood."

---

Rouen – The Inquisition Court.

Zoth returned.

The Book Gate slammed shut behind him —

Like a coffin lid sealing the fate of an entire city.

Screams erupted throughout the courtroom.

Clergy, nobles, soldiers —

All trapped inside a barrier.

Not one could escape.

"P-please… spare us…"

"W-what do you want!? Gold!? Power!? Women!? Name it—anything!!"

Zoth stopped walking.

He smiled.

"What do I want...?"

"Who knows…"

He slowly closed the Omni Force book on his Driver.

The metallic click echoed —

Like the final lock on a death sentence.

[Omnimus Loading…]

Zoth placed his hand on the Driver.

And then—

He slammed it down like divine judgment.

"I WANT YOUR LIVES!!!"

[Solomon Break!!!]

Caladbolg ignited.

Golden energy surged, thick as molten metal.

In the sky above—

Meteor fragments formed from magic and hatred—

And began to fall.

[BOOM!!! BOOM!!! BOOM!!!]

The meteors slammed into Rouen.

The city was torn apart.

The courthouse crumbled.

Holy statues shattered.

Screams vanished in a sea of flame.

Amid the inferno, Zoth tilted his head to the heavens—

And laughed.

"HAHAHAHAHA—!! LOOK AT THIS!!"

"This is divine punishment!

The verdict of the Demon Sword King!!"

Zoth raised Caladbolg high.

His voice tore through the burning ruins of Rouen:

"I! WILL NOT FORGIVE ANY OF YOU!!!"

"I! WILL SLAUGHTER YOU ALL!!!"

---

Since that day…

Zoth never dared to lower [False • Omni Visions] again.

The eyes meant to see "infinite possibilities" —

Now, all they revealed was an unending nightmare.

He carried Caladbolg on his shoulder,

wandering from France to England,

hunting down every name tied to the trial at Rouen.

No judgment. No arguments.

Only sentences — written by his own hand.

He unleashed the Megids from the [Sword of Logos],

Not for conquest,

But to let the world witness the rot he despised.

No one summoned him. No one commanded him.

There was only Zoth — walking alone in his fury.

And slowly…

He understood.

Behind all the chaos and darkness —

It wasn't just a corrupt system.

It was a will.

Alaya.

The Counter Force.

An unseen force.

A mechanism that "corrects history" to maintain the "proper path" of mankind.

Emotionless. Merciless.

No matter how hard Zoth tried...

No matter how many barriers he broke,

how many tyrants he slayed…

Jeanne's fate remained unchanged.

She would still…

Die.

He laughed.

Not from madness.

But because… everything had become meaningless.

His hands trembled.

Fingernails scraped across his metal mask,

leaving marks like dried blood.

And then—he shouted into the night:

"Alaya…"

"You want her dead that badly…?!"

"You want to keep history on track? The timeline unbroken?"

"You want to inspire future generations with the flames that consumed a saint?"

Zoth lifted his face to the sky.

His eyes were burning —

as if blood itself had ignited inside him.

"Then let me be clear—!!"

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT HUMAN HISTORY!!"

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT PROGRESS OR YOUR SO-CALLED FUTURE HOPE!!"

"THE ONLY ONE I WANT TO SAVE—"

"IS HER!!"

"IF THE ENTIRE WORLD MUST PERISH…"

"SO THAT JEANNETTE MAY LIVE…"

He clenched Caladbolg.

The sky cracked.

The earth groaned beneath his feet.

"THEN SO BE IT!!"

"I'LL BURN DOWN THIS WHOLE WORLD!!"

"ALAYA! LISTEN WELL!!"

"I WILL REWRITE HISTORY WITH FIRE AND BLOOD!!"

"JEANNETTE WILL LIVE!!!"

"AND THIS THING YOU CALL 'HUMANITY'..."

"WILL PAY THE PRICE!!!"