Asriel Dreemurr, in his godlike form, floats with an impossible calm. His wings blaze like the edges of dying stars. A robe cloaks him in galaxies and void, stitched with light and shadow. His eyes hold eons, and in them: grief, resolve, and a child's flicker of something lost.

He raises a hand, and the space around bends, as if reality itself breathes in at his command.

Then, he speaks. His voice is layered with echoes, a harmony of countless souls and something ancient beneath it all:

“You really came all this way… just to stop me?”

A pause lingers. His expression shifts—not with malice, but with mourning.

“Then let’s see if your hope… is stronger than my despair.”