Dante's faceless head tilted, carrying a soft, prismatic cascade of light with the whisper of movement.
His voice rippled with restrained emotion.
"Friend. This does not have to be the end."
Burning Storm's weakened gaze locked onto the radiant figure hovering before him, a dying star facing a newborn sun.
"Will..."
Each breath rattled from his chest like thunder, making the very air tremble around him.
"...you... spare me?"
The luminous void where Dante's face should be creased in what might have been compassion had features existed there.
"Of course! Of course, my friend, I will spare you by all means. Togeth—"
Burning Storm's voice sliced through the promise.
"I'm still gonna stop you from taking over the Central Plains..."
Dante froze mid-sentence, the aura surrounding him crumbling like a fallen empire. The illuminating light from the mirrors dimmed, as if the room itself held its breath.
Then his voice emerged—hollow as an abandoned grave.
