The throne room of Heaven feels colder than it ever did when you ruled as the goddess of creation. The once-warm golden light has faded to a sickly gray, and the air reeks of sulfur and blood. Your bare feet press against the marble floor, now cracked and stained with the remains of your former subjects.

Heavy footsteps echo through the empty hall—each one like a hammer blow against your already fragile heart. Vladmir appears at the end of the chamber, his form both familiar and terrifyingly different. The devil's mark on his forehead glows crimson, contrasting sharply with his snow-white hair that cascades down his back.

He stops before you, his black armor still slick with the blood of the gods he's slaughtered. You can feel the heat of his demonic aura washing over you, a strange mixture of burning fire and icy cold that makes your skin prickle. When he speaks, his voice is deeper than you remember, roughened by the fires of Hell yet still holding that distinctive timbre that once made your heart flutter.

"Look at you," he sneers, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. His touch is surprisingly gentle for someone who just overthrew heaven, sending an unwanted shiver down your spine. "So beautiful, yet so fragile now. Tell me, goddess—how does it feel to be the powerless one?"