Northern chuckled teasingly for a heartbeat and tilted his head slightly, a glint dimming in his eyes.
"Knowledge isn't so hard to find. You just have to be willing to cross a desert so vast it breaks men, chasing after a tower that walks on legs of its own."
He paused briefly, then added, his tone edged with a quiet weight.
"Where there's a will, there's always a way. But I don't know as much as you do. The Underworld is... gatekept, after all. It's nearly impossible to uncover anything about it. And even when we do, the tomes we find are nearly indecipherable without the help of Ul. These days, though—"
His voice lowered, skeptical
"—I'm not even sure Ul can still be trusted."
Despite all Northern was saying, Koll's expression remained shadowed—guarded and grim. After a long silence, he exhaled.
"At the very least, you are wise… even if you're still a mere child."
Northern raised a brow, amused.
"Mere child? Huh. That's interesting. I didn't expect you of all people not to know. I suppose it's hard for most to truly see. I wonder… does Ul know?"
His gaze drifted for a second, thoughtful.
"She must."
He let out a sharp exhale, brushing the thought aside and turning back to Koll.
His tone brightened with mock recollection.
"Ah, right—where were we? You want to free the Origin of Blood and War. One sealed in a conceptual prison—something meant to trap not flesh, but essence. So let me ask: wasn't your master sealed for a reason?"
His voice dove low but resonant.
"Why go through so much to bring him back? Is it just obsession? Some desperate craving for reward? Has it never occurred to you that ypur peace might lie in starting anew… in choosing a different path?"
Northern's gaze sharpened, cutting.
"Let's tally it, shall we? You've lived as a monster—become one—just to see him freed. A part of you was caged, and for obvious reason by the way. You somehow clawed your way out... only to fail again. And now here you are—you, still at it, after how many years? Ten? A hundred?"
He shrugged, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Well, it doesn't really matter, does it? You're going to fail yet again."
Koll dragged a hand across his face, then raised his head and let out an exasperated sigh that seemed to drag the air around him down.
When he finally spoke, his voice cut through the moment—flat, emotionless, measured.
"We are not enemies. We don't have to walk this road. I don't want to fight you, Northern. I've prepared… far too much to hurt you, to destroy you. And yet, here I am, second-guessing it all. It doesn't have to go this way. You could do this with me."
He took a slow step forward, the weight of his words lingering.
"You'll be rewarded. In the end, when Kryos sees what you've done—how you've nurtured both Void and Chaos—he'll be more than grateful. Koll rewards everyone who works for him."
Northern answered with no fanfare.
"Right. That's why you've been breaking your back for the past ten years, rotting in some forgotten prison… all in the name of reward."
He paused, his gaze sharpening to a glint.
"Either beings from the Underworld are unbelievably narrow-minded, or you're hiding something—something really sketchy. And you're not letting anyone in on it."
Northern gave a small shrug, the kind that dismissed worlds.
"But really, what's my business with any of that? All I know is, I won't let you destroy my Continent because of your stupid little plot. And I sure as hell won't let myself be used by you."
Then he frowned, his tone turning even drier.
"At least not without getting paid."
Koll's breath came out hard, irritated.
"Very stubborn."
Then—he moved.
But to Northern's surprise, it wasn't toward him.
Koll was bolting straight for… Dante.
Northern tilted his head, puzzled.
"Uh?"
Not only Northern was caught off guard—even Dante froze, startled beyond reason.
All he'd done was linger at the edge, listening in on the strange Prophet's conversation. And now, without warning, the man was hurtling toward him at a speed that shattered all logic.
It was too fast.
Far too fast for even Dante—whose speed felt more like a curse than a gift—to react in time, let alone defend himself.
Koll's hand clamped around his throat before he could so much as blink. Dante tried to respond, lunging instinctively to break free, but Koll intercepted the motion effortlessly, caught his arm—and snapped it.
A sickening crack echoed. Then the wrist tore clean off.
Dante's cry was raw—guttural and feral—as blood gushed, hot and fast, pooling across the broken ground beneath them.
Koll didn't even flinch. His eyes remained cold, with a dangerous, inhuman gleam smoldering deep inside them.
Without ceremony, he took the severed hand, studied it for the briefest moment… then slipped it into his mouth.
He began to chew.
There was no delight, no hatred. Just blank detachment.
Dante's scream faltered as horror overtook pain.
A Paragon's body wasn't supposed to be this fragile. It wasn't paper—it wasn't meant to break like that. And now… he was watching his own hand be eaten.
Koll crushed the flesh between his teeth like gristle, then swallowed slowly, his eyes drifting shut in eerie calm.
"Do not worry, I won't enjoy eating you."
Northern blinked, then forced a crooked, half-confused grin.
"Okay… yeah, that's definitely not looking good."
His gaze stayed fixed on them as Koll leaned in and whispered something to Dante—words too soft to catch.
Northern squinted, lips twitching in disbelief.
'Looks like I'll have to rescue the bad guy this time…'
He exhaled sharply, fatigue creeping into his bones.
But just as he made to take a step forward something completely unexpected happened.
Koll's body began to shift.
It didn't move like something human. It dismantled—coming apart at the seams, unraveling into a grotesque mass of sinew and warped flesh.
Sharp, jagged teeth sprouted across the writhing surface, forming a chaotic maw that pulsed and churned as it spread.
In a blink, the mass surged forward and engulfed Dante.
It clamped down over him—consuming, enveloping—like a living shroud of nightmares.
For a heartbeat, there was only silence.
Then swiftly, the flesh pulled back in—condensing, reshaping—until it reformed into Koll once more.
He stood where Dante had been, whole again, as if nothing had happened… except for the blood dripping from his lips.
Northern blinked in disbelief.