The entire hall trembled.
Dionysus' charred and headless body was still emitting golden vapors when the sound of dragging chains echoed through Erebus. It was deep, metallic, and heavy—each clang seemed to come from the very heart of the underworld.
Virgil slowly turned his gaze.
The shadows parted, the ground darkened even further, and the temperature dropped so sharply that even the black flames around him flickered.
And then he appeared.
From the darkness behind the throne, a presence rose—so ancient, so vast, that for an instant, even the shadows themselves seemed to kneel.
A tall man with long, silver hair, wearing a black tunic adorned with chains of old gold. His eyes… two burning abysses, shining with a heavy, unchanging violet hue.
The aura emanating from him was not merely powerful.
It was absolute.
Death personified—cold, inevitable, silent.
