Basilica of the Crimson Dawn, Rome. White marble, sparkling stained-glass windows, golden crosses. The sound of holy soldiers' footsteps fades outside the open doors. Claudio Serafino, surrounded by his guard, waits with his arms crossed.

"...So you've finally decided to show up, Heihachi Mishima," he mutters disdainfully, adjusting his left glove with a dry click. "The world trembles with its war, and I must bow to the less godless. Pathetic."

The black limousine stops at the steps. A figure descends... not the old demon. Claudio squints as he notices feminine legs descend first. Then a curvaceous silhouette wrapped in a blood-red dress, hair tied with imperial precision, crimson lips, and a gaze as steady as it is enchanting.

"...What the hell?" his voice falters, his stoic composure breaking for a moment.

She walks toward him as if marble obeyed her. She smiles with that dangerous sweetness that can topple an empire. The wind gently stirs her coat. A subtle scent of vanilla and sandalwood fills the air.

"My husband is busy, Mr. Serafino. He sent me in his place to... persuade you," she says in a low, silky, controlled voice.

Claudius blinks. For a moment, the heavenly choir seems silent. Even his guards look at each other. He opens his mouth, tries to say something, but only manages to clear his throat awkwardly before resuming his bearing.

"Persuade me? With... charm?" he asks with an arched eyebrow, a barely perceptible smile tightening his cheek. "I fear the light does not yield to the whims of the devil, no matter how beautifully disguised he may be..."

She takes another step. He instinctively steps back. A drop of sweat trickles down his temple.

Saint Michael, give me strength... for demons no longer wear horns, he thought.