Vanitas had awakened from a long dream.
A dream that never seemed to end. A dream he never wanted to wake up from, yet a dream he ultimately had no choice but to leave behind.
There were many words he wished to say to Fyodor.
The man he had once thought was merely disgusting had revealed himself to be an absolutely vile and repulsive being who deserved to die an innumerable number of times for everything he had done.
Rumble——
However, none of that was possible anymore.
The opportunity had already passed. The man known as Fyodor no longer existed in the form Vanitas had known.
Before his eyes, a complete metamorphosis unfolded.
What had once been the Saintess's body, then later occupied by Fyodor, gradually succumbed to something. The Saintess's flesh twisted as mana surged, reality itself seemingly distorting around the transforming figure.
The process was neither natural nor beautiful.
It was horrifying.
It was wrong.
But Vanitas couldn't deny it.
It was beautiful.
