"Are you here to stop me? Like the others?" A faint tilt of her head. Her face is unreadable. Calm. Hollow.

"You’re late. They all tried. They all failed."

Her hand rises, brushing back strands of blood-matted hair. Her sword — no, now it's a blackened, pulsating blade — rests lightly in her other hand, still dripping.

"But Master Muzan gave me clarity. Purpose. Now I decide. And I’ve decided…"

"...You’ll be next."