On the other side of the Valley of the End, the lofty figure shrouded in golden light slowly descended.
Isadella coldly gazed down upon the damaged, kneeling pitch-black mecha before her.
Through the mecha's breach, one could barely make out the slender figure in a red-cloud-patterned black robe, wearing a whirlpool mask.
In fact, the reason their battle had lasted so long was because the King of the Imaginary Zone had held back.
As for why she held back, it was naturally because the figure before her so closely resembled the Cain in Isadella's memory.
However—that faint expectation that had surged in her heart eventually turned into a cold reality.
Isadella's crimson eyes lowered, a ripple she couldn't hide flickering within them.
"You... you're not him."
"You're not Cain."
For the first time, that indifferent and cold voice carried sadness and loss.
