Ghirahim lies on the ground, broken and bleeding. Demise was gone. He was there, he got him back, and he was gone. But surprisingly, that isn't the most pressing thing on the sword spirit's mind. It wasn't as though Demise hadn't done similar things before; in reality, he had done worse. But Ghirahim had worked so hard, done his best. Yet his master couldn't spare a word for him? He knew it was silly, but he had expected something different.