In the ruined corridor where Klaus had fallen, nothing moved. His body lay broken, the forbidden Reality Severance spell having extracted its terrible price. Blood pooled beneath his motionless form, flesh ashen and torn, the rune on his palm dim and fading. The homunculi kept their distance, silver bodies hovering at the periphery, awaiting instructions.
Within the darkness of Klaus's failing consciousness, something stirred. Not the Klaus Lionhart who had led Team 55, who had fought to protect his comrades—but something older, something that had always existed behind the façade. His true self.
The space between heartbeats stretched into eternity. In this lightless void where consciousness hovered at the edge of oblivion, a presence manifested—ancient and terrible, familiar yet alien.
Gluttony.
"The vessel is dying," Gluttony's voice resonated through the void, not spoken but felt. "Your current incarnation has damaged it beyond self-repair."
