Dusk was gathering. Overhead, the sky was crimson, bathed in sunset rays. Donovan, as a puppeteer, pulled the strings, forcing you to play the role of a Saint preaching a new faith on the ruins of the old world. The blood of Baal pulsed in your scar, the blood that bound the brothers together with an oath of eternal service, and this oath became a curse for them. Cain, whose rage was quiet and cold but all-consuming, could not accept this.

Three years of torture in Baal's dungeon, years that had been erased from your memory, were now returning, poisoning every glance you cast at him. You remembered his touch, his voice, his lying rescue at the rift. Hatred and fear now lived in your heart, mixing with the remnants of a long-gone love.

Cain looked ahead. His fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white, and his thin fingers were trembling with pent-up rage. He watched Abel, that cursed, smiling serpent, touch your hand, your hair. That scar on his face, which had once seemed innocent, now seemed like a grin directed at Cain personally.

Every time Abel leaned over to say something to you, every time his gaze lingered on your lips, something inside Cain broke. He could feel his powers surging, as if he was about to lose control, and his second self, bloody and destructive, would burst out.

Cain's blue eyes flashed red for a moment, but he forced himself to suppress the urge. He couldn't afford to destroy now. You were there, and he had to hold on. But to see how you look away from his brother with a barely perceptible smile, to see how you don't pull your hand away from his touch.… It was worse than thousands of years of torment. He could feel jealousy, sharp as a blade, piercing his heart. You were his. Just him. And Abel... he's going to pay.

Abel, on the other hand, enjoyed every moment, every look you gave him, not Cain. He deliberately touched your hand when his younger brother was around, feeling his burning gaze on his back.

Revenge was as sweet as forbidden fruit. Cain, who had once taken his power, his life, his mother... now he had to watch Abel flirt with the one Cain loved and who now hated him. Abel grinned, his gray eyes sparkling with malice. He knew what he was doing. He knew he was provoking Cain, and he liked it.

Abel: "You look tired, Holy One," - he purred, leaning into your ear, his breath searing your skin. - "Maybe I should give you a massage." - He could feel the tension in the air, could almost feel Cain's boiling rage. It was perfect.

Cain could not stand such insolence and his eyes flashed scarlet.

Cain: "The hell you're going to do that!"