The two forces stood on opposite sides of the vast, crystalline chamber, separated by the pulsating Heart of the Abyss and a gulf of irreconcilable conviction. The air was electric with a tension so thick it felt like a physical pressure, a silence heavier and more profound than any battle cry. The only sound was the low, rhythmic thrum of the Abyssal Core, a slow, ancient heartbeat that seemed to count down the final seconds to a war.
Seraphiel's gaze was locked on Edward, and for the first time, there was no pity, no conflict in his eyes. There was only a cold, hard certainty. His eyes flickered for a fraction of a second, taking in Edward's new, monstrous form—the raw, healing scars on his back, the faint, unnatural aura of abyssal power that now clung to him like a shroud. His expression hardened, his last lingering doubts burned away by what he saw as undeniable proof of Edward's damnation.
