Diamante's laughter roared across the island, shaking the very air like a storm unleashed. "Exactly. You'll never survive this…"
The clash of dark energy filled the space — the smell of ozone from crackling air, the glint of steel under the blood-red moon. The island seemed alive, trembling and groaning as it bore witness to the deadly ballet of unstoppable forces.
Alongside Ryuta Konan appeared the decayed, half-ashen, bloodied form of Arata Kuro. Uruma Nithel's body, sliced and black-eyed, bled as if the darkness itself ran through him. Cloaks fluttered wildly in the crimson wind. At the center stood Diamante Tempest, his red feathered cloak whipping behind him like a banner of domination. Arata's spirit, Ryuta's spirit, and Uruma's bowed before him.
Diamante's maniacal laughter cut through the night. "Who decides what's right or wrong? History unfolds as it will — and you? You haven't even seen what's coming!"
Orimo's chest rose and fell, a low sigh escaping his lips. "Give it up. What you're doing is wrong."
Diamante tilted his head, crimson eyes glinting. "Wrong? I am giving the dead a second chance — bringing them back! How can you call yourself righteous when the world you left behind is full of misery, pirate? The undead… the undead is the only truth!"
Orimo's fists clenched, shadows flickering along his arms. "Shut up. You don't know anything."
Diamante's laughter echoed again, rolling over the island like thunder, as the spirits behind him whispered, bowed, and waited — their silent approval a testament to the terrifying power he now commanded.