Before Agaroth, Sieghart felt as though he were facing a creature dragged forth from the depths of a nightmare itself.
A man born from the abyss of hell to bring despair… a black hole that devoured hope and transformed it into absolute hopelessness.
The Eternal Death Tempest unleashed from Sieghart's blade had struck its target. He was certain of it. The wound Nameless had inflicted upon the Demon King had widened violently, torn open far further than before.
And yet, the King of Demons showed no concern for his injuries—nor for the sword buried deep within his chest.
Instead, he swallowed both the blade and its wielder alike, driven by greed to claim every ounce of his power.
The sword sank deeper… and Sieghart's arms were dragged in with it, his entire body nearly following after.
Before him, Agaroth's smile widened, revealing a demonic visage no sane creature could gaze upon for long without losing its mind.
But Sieghart's nerves were forged from iron.
