The bone chains around Selena's ankles grew heavier with each passing moment, their ethereal links solidifying into tangible restraints that seemed to pulse with a life of their own. She could feel them testing her resolve, probing for weaknesses in her will that might allow them to drag her deeper into the Kingdom of Smoke's eternal servitude. The fallen kings watched with expressions that mixed pity with anticipation, as if they were simultaneously mourning her fate and eager for new company in their collective misery.
Dante's response was swift and instinctive. Dark clouds began to gather around him, not the natural meteorological formations of earthly storms but something far more primal fragments of the tempest that lived within his supernatural essence. The air around them thickened with the promise of lightning, and the acrid scent of ozone mixed with the ever-present taste of ash and despair that permeated the smoky realm.
