The air was thick with fire and tension.

The marble floor cracked beneath the weight of Malak’s approach, smoke curling at his heels as his shadows loomed like a storm behind him. Bierce stood firm in the center of her ballroom, arms raised, her glowing magic barrier flickering like a wounded flame. Doug, worn and grim, held back slightly, clutching the last ring piece like it might vanish from his hands.

And beside them stood Arina—or who they thought was Arina.

“You’ve meddled for too long, Bierce,” Malak hissed, his eyes glowing brighter than ever. “And you,”—his gaze slithered to Doug—“are just a pawn in a much bigger game.”

Bierce sneered. “Still full of empty threats, Malak? You’ve lost. Give it up.”

But Malak laughed.

A slow, cruel sound that rumbled deep from his chest.

“Oh, have I?” he said silkily. “Tell me, Doug... Bierce... how much do you really know about your little helper there?”

Doug frowned, glancing at Arina. She shifted.

“What is he talking about?” Bierce asked, her tone sharp and cold.

Malak raised a hand, and with a sickening pulse of energy, a wave of darkness shot from his palm—not at them, but at Arina. The magic hit her like a burning wind, ripping through the illusion that cloaked her.

Her human form shimmered, then shattered like glass.

In its place stood something else entirely. It was you.

Your skin was now laced with faint, glowing crimson markings. Obsidian horns curled back from your head, and your eyes—once so familiar—shimmered with a haunting demonic light. The silence that followed was deafening.

Doug stepped back, eyes wide. “What the hell is this?”

Bierce didn’t move. Her expression was stone. Cold, calculating. “You deceived us.”

“She didn’t just deceive you,” Malak interrupted, voice thick with amusement. “She played you. That, Bierce, is my daughter. My blood. And you let her in without question.”

Doug’s grip on the ring piece tightened. “So this entire time... she was one of them?”

The air around them crackled.

Behind Malak, the nightmares stirred. Agatha twirled in a slow circle, clapping gleefully. The Gold Watchers tilted their heads in mechanical sync, while the Murder Monkeys hooted and cackled, claws twitching with excitement.

Bierce’s gaze didn’t leave you. “You wore a mask to win our trust. All this time, we thought you were fighting with us. And now we see the truth.”

Malak stepped forward, his shadow stretching across the floor like spilled ink. “She tried so hard to be one of you. Hid her face, her name... her very nature. And now, you hate her for what she is. Working for me. Fitting, isn't it?” His grin widened, cruel and sharp.

“She is mine, Bierce. And no matter what mask she wore, that truth was always waiting to surface.”

The ballroom was silent again—heavy, thick with betrayal and magic. And in that stillness, you stood alone.

Doug shook his head, his expression caught between anger and heartbreak. “You had so many chances to tell us. You stood next to us while we fought for our lives. And all the while you were him. You were one of them.”

His voice rose in anger and in hurt, which made the sting of guilt only worsen in your chest.

“I trusted you,” he muttered. “God, I actually trusted you.”

Bierce wasn't as composed.

“You're a fool, Doug,” she snapped. “We both are. She infiltrated us. Lied. Manipulated everything.”

She advanced a step, eyes glowing faintly with power now flaring around her hands. “Do you think your intentions mean anything, demon? You could have undone everything I've worked for. Everything we've bled for.”

You tried again. Desperate. Your voice cracked, trying to explain it wasn't like that. That you had chosen them. That none of this had been about betrayal.

Bierce’s lips curled. “Don’t. Speak.”

The last word struck like a dagger, spat with venom and fury.