"Are you fucking kidding me?" Frame trembling, its nervousness palpable, Belzebub stood aghast.
It couldn't avert its eyes from the raging torrent of white flares bursting through the rift.
"How is this happening?" Belzebub was very sure the Lord was dead — it could have bet its life on it.
Suddenly its frame went stiff as it felt the boring gazes of the three behind him.
Voldyk stared at Belzebub's frame briefly, then shook its bony head.
"It seems your foe still found a way out of an inevitable death… This only proves the fact this plane isn't so simple."
Its hollow sockets blazing, it lifted its rotten bone staff and stamped it onto the platform. A force field of corruption bloomed, shielding them from the relentless white flares.
As for those lower Variants below? Voldyk couldn't care less.
"You failed me…" The voice of the King rumbled, rattling Belzebub's figure.
