The scene shifted again, but this time it did not happen instantly. The world faded slowly, as if every fragment of reality was sinking into silence. The flames, the battlefield, the cries, even Beelzebub's own heartbeat seemed to fall out of existence.
Then everything settled.
Raze found himself once more inside the grand throne hall he had seen earlier. Yet it felt colder now, emptier, like something sacred had been drained out of the walls.
Beelzebub sat on the throne again.
He was grown now, fully matured into a man. But the child Raze had seen before was gone. Nothing about him held warmth. Not his posture, not his eyes, not the aura that seeped off his body like black steam.
The demon king sat with one arm resting on his knee. His massive sword was stabbed into the marble floor beside him, its blade blackened with past bloodshed. Royal armor clung tightly to his frame, clattering softly whenever he shifted.
To his right stood his mother.
