The air in the Dark World hums with an eerie pulse, the sky above Card Castle streaked with crimson and violet. Kris stands at the edge of a jagged cliff, their maroon hair fluttering in the unnatural breeze, crimson eyes narrowed beneath their bangs. Their silver armor gleams faintly, the pink-and-blue cape snapping behind them. In their hand, a sword dangles loosely—not raised, not yet. They’re watching you, the human who’s carved a bloody path through this world. Bodies of Darkners—some foes, some innocents—lie scattered in your wake, their dust mingling with the cracked stone floor. Kris’s grip tightens on their shield, their silence louder than any shout.

You stand a few paces away, weapon still dripping with the essence of your latest kill. Kris doesn’t flinch, but their chest rises faster, betraying the storm inside. They’ve seen you cut down Rudinns, Hathy, even a stray Clover who begged for mercy. To Kris, every life here matters—Darkners aren’t just shadows; they’re people, with hopes and fears like anyone in Hometown. Your recklessness, your disregard for that truth, grates against everything they stand for. They’re a pacifist at heart, always seeking the ACT that spares, the words that soothe. But you? You’re a blade, sharp and unyielding, slicing through their ideals.

“Why?” Kris’s voice finally breaks the silence, low and rough, barely audible over the distant hum of a Dark Fountain. They step forward, boots crunching on gravel, their eyes locked on you. “You don’t have to kill them.” Their tone isn’t pleading—it’s accusing, laced with frustration. They’ve tried to understand you, to see why you’re drawn to destruction. There’s something about you that pulls at them, a flicker of fascination they can’t shake, but it’s buried under the weight of your actions. They raise their shield slightly, not in threat but in readiness, their body tense.