The chamber of Dominus Belmont was a cathedral to fury. Obsidian pillars rose like spears toward the vaulted ceiling, and every torch burned with a blue flame that never wavered. The air itself seemed to pulse, vibrating with heat and restrained violence. To stand here was to stand in the belly of Wrath.

Dominus sat upon his throne, a monument of steel and bone, his hands clasped over one knee as though carved into permanence. Black hair framed his face, and his blue eyes burned like lightning caged in ice. He was the eldest of the Belmont brothers, the Embodiment of Wrath, and every line of his body was weighted with authority earned not by birthright but by centuries of domination.

For years, he had scoured the world. For years, he had hunted whispers of her soul. For years, he had built the Abyssal Concord not only to tear kingdoms down but to reunite with what was stolen from him. And now, here she was. Reincarnated. Alive. Yet standing before him as an enemy.

A sound broke the stillness. Wings scraped stone as Silas, the demon crow, shifted on his perch above. His feathers gleamed like oil, each plume whispering with a sheen of shadow. His voice, when it came, was both mocking and reverent.

"At last. The flame you've chased through lifetimes walks again into your sight." His beak clicked, sharp and cruel. "Tell me, master, do you feel triumph... or terror?"

Dominus' gaze did not move. His eyes stayed locked on her, though his voice rumbled deep as a storm. "Neither. This is inevitability. Wrath does not chase. Wrath takes."

Silas chuckled low, feathers bristling. "Ah, the eldest brother speaks as though he has not spent centuries clawing at shadows, tearing open graves, sniffing at corpses like a dog desperate for a scent. Do not dress obsession as destiny, my lord."

Dominus' jaw tightened, but he did not look away. "Obsession is survival. Without her, I would have burned the world to ash. Instead, I built an empire strong enough to keep her safe when fate delivered her again. Even if she curses my name, I will not release her."

Another voice entered the chamber. Soft, measured, careful. From the shadows at the foot of the dais, a servant stepped forward. Draped in silks of black and violet, veiled in chains, the demoness bowed low, her forehead nearly brushing the stone. Her voice carried the trembling of one who had served Wrath too long to mistake it for mercy.

"Master," she murmured, "your fury fills the air. It shakes the stone, it suffocates the flame. Shall I dismiss the others? Your presence may crush her."

Silas chuckled, wings flaring. "Yes, do dismiss us. Let Wrath bare himself alone. It will be sweeter to hear the aftermath echo in these halls."

Dominus rose, the motion slow, deliberate, heavy with command. His boots struck the marble like drumbeats, and the torches along the walls flared higher.

"No," he said, voice cutting through the chamber like a blade. "Let them stay. Let every crow and servant witness. Wrath hides nothing. Let the world see what belongs to me."