Sepphirothy did not respond immediately.
His eyes remained fixed on the temporal prison, now trembling under the weight of something that did not belong to this world—or any other. The concentric lines of the dome spun erratically, disintegrating runic symbols one by one, as if even the spells themselves were trying to escape from what had been imprisoned inside.
That flame... it wasn't just power. It was inevitability.
Vergil pressed harder on her shoulder, his voice laden with urgency and fear: "Mother, what is this technique? What has she done?!"
Finally, Sepphirothy replied, her voice hoarse, almost reverent. "It is something she stole from humanity."
Vergil blinked, confused. "Stole?"
She nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on the prison where the impossible was happening.
