«Sins will be judged and justice will be beheld, from the highest heavens to the deepest pits of hell. Let each individual receive what awaits them after the death of light and the rise of darkness, fleeing from what a heart most fears. Guide the lost souls to their rightful place near the cold netherworld, but grant the oppressed one the halo he once deserved and allow their tragic ending to be rewritten. Beyond the Pavilion shall they be brought back. »
Under the sole light shining weakly on top of a throne, the figure of an individual hidden in the pitch of the shadows sat sedately on top with his legs crossed, languidly tapping his slender fingers on the crest of the arms of the stone chair.
Grief clouded his handsome features with his eyelids dropped and his thick brows furrowed, sending murderous waves around himself, seeming dangerous to approach. The individual's dusky long hair hung and slipped from his shoulders, as he slightly tilted his head to take in the sight of a shadow that wore a black-clad, slowly making their way before the throne.
Within five meters from the cathedra, the newcomer halted in their tracks, and as they came under the watch of the one seated high, they immediately kneeled on one knee and placed their hand on their chest, informing with a clear voice that echoed across the grand hall.
"Young master, it is just as you foretold. Everything went as the prophecy illustrated. Should your grace confront things yourself?"
"No need." The lord interrupted indifferently. "When the time succeeds, I will make my move at my convenience. No reason for the rush."
"Your grace is at right." The black-clad bowed their head lowly. Soon they raised it to gaze into the faint figure of the lord sunk into the twilight, consoling.
"However, young master, one shouldn't simply allow a complicated soul to wander the land. Heaven knows what kind of mess they might bring upon themselves if they possess some other shell..."
The lord let out a sigh under his breath and composed his position as he supported his temple with his smooth fingers, retorting.
"I'm aware... But that obnoxious soul's capabilities are far beyond limited for now. I'd like to see how they will figure things out."
"If that's your grace's command, then we'll unconditionally oblige. May things go as you plan." The black-clad prayed as they stared at the gracious one, their expressions unknown as they were kept concealed under a grey metal demonic mask, showing only a wild and childish grin with bared teeth.
The mask appeared joyous as the black-clad inquired. "Is there anything else the young master wishes to do? This may be your last chance you see this friend..."
However, the lord remained serene and unbothered, dullness overtaking his face as he collectedly stood up from his prime seat, descending the stairs step by step, his hands behind his straight back. As he couldn't confiscate his eyes from the masked individual, he responded.
"This is farewell."
After a brief moment when his words still could be heard resonating, he added.
"There are no intentions to expand our business beyond its current state. I'm sure you also have your agenda behind you. I may have known your true motives from the start, but I'd say this was a fair assistance, not a hindrance."
The black-clad mask recoiled for a second, seeming as if they froze in place.
Out of the secrecy, unexpected hysterical peals of laughter broke across the vast manor, prompting the lord to halt halfway confused, and from behind the sinister facade, the black-clad had their head hung up as they breathed out their last laugh, dropping their head slightly to face the imposing one with greatly horrendous forces from the ominous two-horns mask.
