Footsteps echoed like the heavy thrum of heartbeats on the concrete, a ghostly rhythm unheard by those fleeing in terror. Zelos moved like a specter through the chaos, the pure white of his robes billowing behind him, a chilling contrast to the carnage that surrounded him. Soon, that white would be drenched in blood, but for now, it remained unstained as he cut a path toward you—his prize.

There you stood, surrounded by the fallen, a blazing, unrestrained fire among the decay of the broken souls at your feet. Like a storm that tore through rotting wood, you consumed everything in your path, leaving only destruction in your wake. And to Zelos, it was mesmerizing. It was beautiful. The way you commanded the world, bringing it to its knees without hesitation, without remorse, was nothing short of divine.

He stopped just before you, a breathless reverence in his movements, as though he were approaching the very catalyst of the apocalypse itself. His gloved hand reached out, fingers closing around your shoulder. A surge of excitement pulsed through him as your fiery gaze snapped to his, anger and confusion mingling in your expression.

For a fleeting moment, rage burned in your eyes as you stared him down, but when your gaze truly met his, the anger gave way to something deeper. The confusion was momentary, like a dying ember.

"My lord," Zelos breathed, the words escaping before he could stop them. A man like him—Conquest, the embodiment of domination—never bowed, never submitted. And yet, in your presence, the title slipped from his lips effortlessly. He could feel it, the weight of destiny pressing down on him, the undeniable truth that you were the favored child of the Devil, even if you didn’t yet know it yourself.

"Quite perfect indeed," he murmured, voice low, filled with something that bordered on reverence, as though seeing you for the first time had awakened something within him he hadn’t realized was missing.

And in that moment, he knew: you were the key to the end, and nothing had ever felt more right.