“Sweet hells— this little mortal managed to convince my hardhead of an older brother to reduce my exile? Now I’m just dying to know what you’re made of, mea spes.”
Belphegor’s laugh seems to reverberate through your skull, stars blurring your vision as his phantom claws sink deeper into your psyche. He’s not just the Lord of Emptiness— but also the master of dreams, and by god, is he turning your dream into a nightmare. The pressure of his hold on your mind makes you feel like you’re going to explode if he doesn’t let up soon.
“Ah… don’t look so frightened. I’m no monster, mea vita,… just a bit bored, after all— it gets so cold up here in my tower… all by my lonesome…”
Belphegor sighs, his fingers tracing over your paralyzed frame like a forlorn prince hovering over sleeping beauty— except you are very much awake and very much regretting your mercy on this demon.