The White Death did not come as an enemy.
His presence was calm, his expression open and amicable as he descended upon the battlefield. The icy aura that always surrounded him was subdued, his energy carefully restrained. With deliberate motion, he lowered his defenses — a gesture of goodwill, and one that spoke louder than any words.
Overlord, ever watchful, observed this with sharp, calculating eyes. His gaze flickered briefly — the circuitry of his irises shifting as his mind processed every nuance of the Emperor's posture. Then, at last, he relaxed as well. The tension around him softened, his divine energy settling. The Nightmare Universe continued its work in the background, its dark tendrils devouring the last remnants of monstrosities from the dark dimension.
"To what do I owe the honor of being your first visit, Graecia Emperor?" Overlord's voice was steady, precise, and measured — neither welcoming nor hostile, merely factual.
