Death's words wrapped around him like a shroud, warm yet chilling, whispering with a knowing certainty.
"Why do you hesitate? Why do you refuse the gift that is yours by right?"
Enel's breath came short as realization struck.
When he first entered this nexus, the system had given him an alert.
At the time, it hadn't made sense. The dead had no emotions, no desires, no will. Yet, he had felt something flowing into him—a thick, invisible essence like an unseen tide, whispering in the back of his mind. Instinctively, he had restrained it, unsure whether it was a boon or a curse.
But now… now it all made sense.
He was Death's betrothed. And that was not just a name—it was a bond. A connection deeper than life itself, one that granted him the authority over something no ordinary being could wield.
The hatred of the dead.
