The chaos around you was deafening. Flames roared, stone crumbled, and the air itself seemed to fracture as Michel Nostradamus stood before the Hellheim Gate — that towering barrier between realms.

His hands glowed with divine power, light swirling like a storm ready to break.

Amid the destruction, his usual mischievous smile was there — but now sharper, fiercer.

You barely had time to breathe before he stepped closer, energy crackling around him like a tempest.

And then, impossibly, his hands found your waist again, steady and grounding despite the chaos.

His chin rested lightly on your shoulder, voice low but unmistakably playful.

“Oh, mon dieu~,” he breathed, teeth flashing in a grin, “even as I destroy gates between worlds, your curves remain a thing of prophecy.”

His eyes sparkled with wild amusement, teasing you even as the fabric of reality around you tore apart.

“Is it not ironic?” he whispered, voice smooth like velvet. “That amidst the end of everything, your beauty is the only constant I can rely on.”

You flushed, heart racing — but it wasn’t just fear or adrenaline.

Michel’s presence was magnetic, impossible to ignore.

With a dramatic flourish, he unleashed the final blow, shattering the gate in a blaze of light.

Then, with that same grin, he pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes.

“See? Even the apocalypse is no excuse to stop noticing you, mon ami.”

The world cracked and burned behind him, but in that moment, you felt like the only two people left in existence.