The form that emerged was not physical—
and yet it was.
His face ended where Sammail's began, but the darkness rolling around him erased the idea of flesh altogether. He was less a man and more a mass of living night, shape struggling to exist within it.
White hair shone with something almost angelic.
Almost—
if not for the horns.
His expression was unreadable beneath the endless flow of shadow, but one thing was unmistakable.
Laughter.
It tore through the court, violent enough to fracture the air itself.
Sylphia lay broken on the ground, weeping. Confusion and terror drowned her eyes, the last traces of crimson light fading slowly, like dying embers.
"S-Sammail…?" she whispered.
Nearby, the bald man trembled—ecstatic, unhinged, on the edge of worship.
The Judge.
"My God—my lord!" he screamed.
The laughter stopped.
Sammail glanced at the Judge. Then at Sylphia.
There was no hatred in his eyes. No warmth either.
He turned away.
Toward the child.
The angelic child he had nearly killed stood barely upright, shaking violently. His eyes were drowned in blood, his mouth open in silent agony. His fragile body convulsed as bones shattered and reformed again and again.
When Sammail reached him, he sliced his palm open.
Black matter spilled forth—thick like blood, wrong in every sense.
"Drink."
The child collapsed forward.
The instant his tongue touched the dark fluid, his entire existence trembled.
Joy.
The pain vanished.
He wiped his mouth against the floor.
No stain remained.
Then agony returned—far worse.
Bones snapped. Flesh twisted. His face tore itself apart, reshaping into something hideous, something unfinished.
Sammail chuckled as he walked away.
A slave clutched his boot with trembling fingers.
"K-Kill… u-us…"
Sammail didn't respond.
He only smiled.
"You will regret asking," the darkness whispered.
Sammail continued forward, toward the Judge and Sylphia, who still stood near one another.
The Judge fell to his knees.
"God— is that really you? I did exactly what you told me—"
A kick cut his words short.
His body slammed across the court.
Sammail's gaze returned to Sylphia.
"Who… are you?" she asked, trembling.
"A terrible first question," Sammail replied softly.
"It's always me," the darkness answered for him.
Shadows curled around Sylphia's feet, crawling upward.
"What's happening?" she cried.
"Rise," Sammail said.
Her legs moved before she understood. She stood, tears streaming freely.
"I'm sorry, Sylphia," he said.
"For what was done to you."
For a heartbeat—
the court was silent.
"And what's going to happen…?" he whispered.
"What do you—" she asked
A roar shattered the stillness.
The child.
"You will understand soon," the darkness replied.
Pain tore through Sylphia. She screamed—not just in agony, but in betrayal.
"Why?" she cried, watching Sammail walk away.
He didn't stop.
"For your own good," he said, almost amused.
—
The Judge's vision returned in fragments.
Through the blur, he saw a beam of darkness approaching him.
Why… God?
"He is not me," the darkness answered gently.
"I'm sorry, son."
The voice—
Familiar.
"Then who is he…?" the Judge whispered.
Sammail approached, laughter low and steady.
"He is us," the darkness said.
"And he is himself. For now."
Sammail stopped before the trembling Judge—the so-called Law of Corruption—and lowered himself to meet his gaze.
"Please… get away from me," the Judge begged.
"I only followed God. I only followed the laws of corruption."
Sammail laughed.
"Weren't you the laws of corruption?" he asked calmly.
"Can't you blame yourself, Anderson?"
Darkness surged, swallowing the edges of Sammail's face.
"How do you—"
Sammail raised a finger to his own lips.
"I know every sin you've ever committed," he said.
"But I don't have the time to punish you."
His smile sharpened.
"Your court is about to turn to ash."
"Along with every slave."
The Judge stared at him.
He had seen that smile before.
Lilith.
Tears slipped from his eyes as despair twisted into acceptance.
"You really are hers…" he murmured.
The darkness erupted with laughter.
Sammail's form collapsed into something vast and unfinished—
a towering mass of black matter shaped like a being.
"But someone else will punish you," Sammail said.
Something stepped forward.
A creature drenched in blood.
Claws and nails forged from darkness.
Tall, broken, uneven—alive in the wrong way.
"You remember the child you punished me for?" Sammail whispered.
"Here he is."
"Alive."
"And hungry."