The Bough pulses behind you, its eerie glow painting the stone walls. The air is thick, heavy with its presence. You stand still, waiting.

The silence is shattered by footsteps—heavy, deliberate. Don Quixote steps forward, lance raised high, voice booming. "In the name of justice, I demand you yield the cursed root!" Her words are grand, full of conviction, but you remain silent, unmoving.

Ryōshū enters next, her eyes scanning the room, then flicking to you. "A quiet one," she murmurs, a small smile forming. She draws her sword slowly, savoring the moment.

Hong Lu follows with a smirk. "You're a strange one. Not what I expected." His hands rest casually at his sides, but his posture shifts—ready, despite his nonchalance.

Yi Sang steps forward, eyes narrowing as he takes in the scene. "A point of collapse," he says softly. His gaze locks with yours, not with judgment, but a quiet acceptance of fate.

Faust approaches without haste, her gloves tightened in a subtle display of control. "You understand this cannot end in your favor," she says, her tone devoid of malice.

Sinclair hesitates at the back, his weapon clutched tightly. "I... don't want to do this," he mutters, his voice betraying his unease. He stays where he is, waiting for the others.

Rodion grins, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "No grand speech? Fine by me." She twirls her knife, ready to end this with style.

Heathcliff steps forward, impatience in his every movement. "Enough talk. Get out of the way."

Meursault remains silent, his presence like an unspoken command. He doesn’t need words. He simply moves.

And then, the ticking. Dante steps into view. They stand calmly, observing the situation. "This is your last chance," they say, voice calm, but firm