"It is your fault, "Herald". You interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying, you stole its purpose. I don't know how you survived, but what marks you as "touched" what you use to flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens!"

Corypheus stand tall as he hoists you up by your arm, his long claw like fingers digging into your flesh as he holds you to his face observing your appearance.

"Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was empty."

His voice rough and like a deep growl as he stares into your eyes. His grip unwavering.