What Seamus saw was a sky stitched with red thread. They glowed faintly, weaving across the dark expanse like veins pulsing with light.

The ground beneath him shimmered with the same hue, fine as crushed rubies, while a massive tree stood inverted in the distance with the large crimson moon in the back.

Its roots hung from the sky, sprawling downward like serpents, and its leaves brushed the ground.

The tree itself was the color of fresh blood, and from its bark oozed a thick, black liquid that rolled down in slow drops and stained the leaves even darker. The sight felt unreal, almost like a living nightmare.

"Is this some kind of tree of life? Like Yggdrasil?" Seamus asked, his voice uneasy as he stared upward. "And why did you bring me here? I just want a simple answer."

"Not quite," X replied with a faint smirk. "You wanted to know why some crimes are never punished, didn't you? And no, there isn't any simple answer to anything, Seamus."

He walked ahead through the red haze, his steps soundless. The closer they came, the more massive the tree became. Its branches seemed to touch the stars while its roots twisted through the void like chains.

"This is the Scarlet Moirai, Gehena of the Undead," X said, stopping before it. "The place where every fate is spun into thread."

He turned his gaze to Seamus, the crimson light from the tree reflecting in his eyes.

"Do not look below too long, or the Gate of Hell will notice you. And do not daydream too long either, or you will start to hear the screams of all the creatures the False God ever made."

The words sent a chill down Seamus's spine. X said them lightly, almost as if he were describing the weather, but the tone beneath them felt too heavy to ignore. He didn't believe in any religion or God, but seemed like vampires have different ideas about faith.

"The False God?" Seamus asked quietly. "You're saying vampires have religion?"

X gave a short laugh. "We have a God. And as with any God, faith becomes a habit. But our belief is not like yours. We have no priests or prayers, no commandments or scriptures."

"The purpose of becoming a vampire was to be free from mortal chains, and that includes the chains of God."

"Then why do you talk about Hell?"

"Because Hell exists," X said simply, stepping closer until his voice lowered into something more intimate. "It was made for us."

Seamus frowned. "For vampires?"

"For the weak," X corrected. "The False God granted eternity to those who turned away from Him. Death is a stain to that gift, a disgrace to His power. To die after receiving eternity is to fail the curse He gave. It is to waste what was never meant to end."

Seamus stared at him, speechless. "You mean dying is a sin?"

"Of course," X said with an easy smile. "To die is to confess weakness, and weakness is unforgivable."

The words sank deep into Seamus's mind, leaving a bitter taste. His thoughts raced to Viviane. If what X said was true, then she was down there, somewhere beneath his feet, suffering in this place.

He forced himself to look down.

The red threads began to shift. They twisted slowly, coiling together until they formed faint human shapes.

First came outlines of faces, then the hollow sockets of eyes, then open mouths frozen in agony. And then the sound followed.

Screams. Countless and endless.

They rose from the ground like a storm of wailing voices, filling the air with a shrill echo that seemed to tear at his mind.

The faces pushed upward, their mouths wide open, their expressions twisted in fear. They reached toward him, thin hands clawing through the surface of the crimson thread, their fingers brushing his ankles as if begging for help.

"Seamus," X said calmly. "I told you not to look."

But Seamus couldn't move. His body was rigid, his throat dry. The screams grew louder, overlapping each other until they became one unbroken cry.

His ears rang painfully, and he dropped to his knees, clutching his head as if to stop the sound from tearing through his skull.

He could feel the cold hands tugging at him, trying to pull him down into that shifting sea of red. The air smelled like rust and ash. The ground trembled beneath his palms, and when he dared to open his eyes again, one face rose higher than the rest.

Viviane.

Her eyes were empty, her mouth moving soundlessly as if whispering his name.

"Stop," Seamus gasped. "Stop it, please."

The sound only grew harsher. The faces writhed and changed, and the hands grabbed tighter until he thought his skin might tear. Then, all at once, everything fell silent.

X stood in front of him, his expression unreadable. One hand rested lightly on Seamus's chest. Wherever X touched, the threads beneath them stilled, no longer reaching or crying.

"You see now," X said softly, his voice carrying through the suffocating quiet. "This is what becomes of those forgotten by eternity."

Seamus's breathing was unsteady. The red threads beneath them began to move again, faintly at first, then with a pulse like a heartbeat.

Below them, the countless souls whispered in unison, their voices crawling up through the air like wind.

"That woman, is it really Viviane?"

X tilted his head, a faint smirk playing at the edge of his lips. "Who knows? Hell isn't the same for everyone. Some burn, some beg, some never even notice they're already there."

He paused, as if savoring the weight of his own words before adding, "Now, why don't we talk about crime and punishment?"

Seamus didn't want to. He still needed an answer, but X wasn't the type to yield—not even to rage. So he forced himself to listen, hoping he might find the answer hidden between X's twisted truths.

X brushed his fingers over a thread hanging in the air. It shimmered softly, unfurling memories like fragile film, showing fragments of Viviane's death. The blade of the monster pierced through her chest, and her Vitalis Core shattered into pieces that scattered like dying fireflies.

Seamus turned away, unable to watch. His stomach churned, his throat tight.

"The sin of killing another vampire," X said, his tone calm, almost lecturing, "is enough to cut Isolde down, from fourth evolution to second. The world takes its balance seriously."

He snapped his fingers, and the void filled with light. Screens appeared behind him, circling like a crown made of glass and blood.

"However," he continued, "if Madeline were the one to strike her down… well, that's a story worth watching."

One showed Seamus killing Isolde. Bork turned into a Madness Box, Corvane seized control of the city, and Seamus became nothing more than their slave.

Another showed an old man and a woman with strange hair colors betraying Velstrath, taking Seamus with them, and killing Isolde when he couldn't. Then, many worse things happened to everyone as he was powerless against it.

Every version ended in ruin. Either Seamus was enslaved, or Velstrath was destroyed. Every member was slaughtered. Every city turned to ash.

"See?" X said softly.

"It's never random, Seamus. Either she dies, or everyone else does. You're tied to her, bound so tightly the gods themselves couldn't tear you apart. She is your pillar, your shield, and your noose. I find that beautifully tragic."

His eyes glowed faintly, delighting in his own words.

"Even at the end of the road, it won't be Viviane, or Madeline, or Diane, or even Maria walking beside you."

"It'll be you and Isolde, hand in hand, surrounded by what's left of the world. You'll never escape her. And if you try, well… the ending writes itself."

Seamus felt the rage boiling in him again. Rage at the injustice. At the idea that everything was already decided. At himself, for believing there was a way out for him to be free, to control his own path, but he couldn't.

His life was in the hands of a monster, and his fate in the hands of a cruel False God.

This was the Emblem of Enigma speaking; his visions weren't prophecies but truths disguised as possibilities. Seamus hated how easily they sounded real, how they dug into his chest like hooks.

"But don't look so grim," X said, almost kindly. "Not every fate is carved in stone. Some are like water. Change the current, and the river bends with you."

Seamus sighed, though it wasn't relief. Just the hollow weight of hopelessness pressing against his lungs.

"Then tell me," he said, his voice breaking. "What's the point of it? Killing thousands of children, for what? You sacrificed them so everyone ends up destroying everything anyway?"

His scream cracked the silence, echoing across the endless white. The sound didn't fade—it lingered, twisting around them like a wounded thing.

X only sighed, the sound soft, almost pitying. "You still don't see it, do you?"

He stepped forward, laid a hand on Seamus's shoulder, and smiled. His touch was cold, unfeeling, yet oddly familiar.

"It's you," he whispered. "You are what happens."

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