[Location: Wrath's Palace, Wrath Circle, Seventh Hell]
Grayfia's lips curved in the faintest hint of a smile, almost imperceptible, but it carried the weight of inevitability. "I do not mock you, Wrath. I merely prepare the stage. The moment my prince enters, the reckoning will not be mine — it will be his. I am merely the harbinger of order, the blade that carves the path."
The Witch's voice finally returned, quieter, almost reverent. "I… I underestimated her."
"Then Hell itself will burn before I kneel."
The ground trembled. From the blackened marble floor of the Wrath Palace, cracks slithered outward like veins of molten gold, pulsing with infernal energy. The heat thickened the air, turning every breath into smoke and iron. Wrath's words hung there, defiant, furious—yet underneath that fury was something else.
A flicker of unease.
Grayfia's gaze, calm and silver, didn't waver. "You seem to have forgotten who was the first to fall."
BOOOM!
