Far above the Underworld, above the lower planes and the countless layers that composed reality, there was only silence. Not the silence of an empty place, but the silence of something too ancient to need words. It was in that space that Celeste remained, observing recent events through countless conceptual currents scattered throughout creation.
His gaze was turned downwards.
Far below.
Towards the Abyss.
Towards Vergil.
Towards the authority that was now awakening within him.
Metatron remained nearby, equally observing the echoes that spread throughout existence. Vergil's advance through the Abyss was not discreet. Few entities possessed enough power to ignore what was happening at that moment. The manifestation of the Authority of Death was felt on several planes simultaneously.
For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.
Until Metatron finally broke the silence.
"Why?"
His voice remained calm.
Respectful.
But there was genuine doubt in it.
