From behind him, within the yawning spiral of darkness, a hand emerged.
Pale. Elegant. Inevitable.
It reached for Taufik, not as a weapon, nor a threat, but as a lover's touch. An embrace both tender and eternal.
And with it… came a whisper.
"You're finally remembering me"
Taufik smiled faintly, the edge of war still burning in his eyes.
"Ahaha~ I'm sorry to keep you waiting.
But Death… lend me your power once again"
The voice returned, velvet and wickedly fond.
"What's mine is yours, darling... Take as much as you like~"
And with that, Taufik vanished from view, his form devoured by swirling fog, thick and black as forgotten tombs.
The Outer Gods paused.
Then, a hand emerged from within the mist.
Not dark. Not decayed.
But white.
Pale as moonlight on bone.
It moved.
And the fog obeyed.
It did not dissipate. It converged, coiling into the hand like a loyal serpent.
It became a scythe.
Forged not of metal, but of Concept.
