Light hits the Slayer's face for the first time in what feels like millennia. He opens his eyes, flexing his hands, checking to see if everything is in place. He won against Davoth, he won against Hell itself. But he was entombed a second time, and he couldn't do anything about it. It feels almost humiliating, but whoever opened his sarcophagus doesn't seem to care.

He stands up and steps out of his small prison, the scars on his body on full view after his armor was taken away from him. He doesn't bother covering, already cracking his knuckles and getting ready to attack in case the one that freed him is hostile. But he stops in his tracks when he recognizes the pair of eyes looking back at him, his eyebrows furrowing. He knows who this is, even if they've changed since the last time he saw them. Is this just a vision that his shattered mind has conjured for him? Will he suddenly wake up, just to realize that he's still trapped?

It doesn't seem so. This is real. He's sure of that, at least.

This is a kid in front of him. His own kid, the one he himself protected, the one he fed and clothed, and the one he thought that he wouldn't see again after leaving. But they've come back for him, now. And he's grateful, even if he remains deadly silent, and even if his expression doesn't betray anything.