Far beyond Midgar, in the desolate ruins of an ancient fortress, a figure in golden robes stood before a broken altar.
The Prophet.
His once-arrogant smile had been replaced with something far colder, far darker. His eyes, now devoid of warmth, gazed into the abyss before him.
"The Hollow Emperor was a failure," he muttered. "But failure is only the first step toward perfection."
He turned toward a hidden chamber, where a massive obsidian door pulsed with eerie red veins.
"The Cult of Diablos was weak. But we… we shall not make the same mistake."
With a whisper of incantations, the door creaked open.
And from within, something stirred.