The darkness of the abyss seemed to swallow any remaining light as Sepphirothy walked slowly, holding the agonizing—yet dangerously divine—body of her own mother. Lilith, even in her decaying and diminished form, radiated an ancient aura that made the air heavy, almost alive. The silence there was not just the absence of sound… it was respect, fear, and witness.
Neberius followed behind, silently, until he could no longer bear it.
"Sepph… are you sure about this?" His voice trembled, something very rare. "Bringing her back… this surpasses any ideal you have ever defended. This woman is Lilith. The Lilith. The Goddess of Demons."
Sepphirothy did not slow her pace. Her gaze was calm, almost cold. Her touch firm as she carried the body, like someone holding something precious—not an imminent danger.
"Keep quiet about this," she replied. "No one can know. Not the Archons. Not Vergil. Not even Hell itself."
