Cain smiled faintly as he gazed upon the white gate. Something about this place felt different, a subtle pull deep within his soul. His instincts whispered that if he reached the final ring, he would obtain something extraordinary, something meant only for him.

With great effort, he pushed himself up from the ground, adopting a sitting position. His body was battered, his left shoulder mangled and bleeding, but his eyes burned with quiet determination. Not far away, his severed arm lay on the metallic floor.

Cain extended his remaining hand, and the limb rose as if drawn by invisible strings. When it reached him, he pressed it against the torn flesh of his shoulder.

Immediately, the Depravita Aura and the vitality drawn from the Scarlet Throne surged to life. The blood at the wound shimmered like molten gold as threads of light wove through the flesh, reconnecting muscle, bone, and nerve. He could have reforged the arm from nothing, but that would have taken days, maybe even more, so this was more efficient.

As his body mended, Cain turned his gaze toward the Crimson Exarch, who sat cross-legged not too far away.

The Neo-Angel's body was covered in wounds and scorch marks, yet waves of radiant vitality flowed through his flesh, knitting the damage with supernatural grace. He was using the power of his Crimson Throne for a burst of vitality, but that was not all. The Flow around him pulsed rhythmically, responding to his will as though it were part of his own body.

Cain's eyes narrowed slightly. In terms of raw talent and attunement, the two were equals, but the Crimson Exarch's mastery over the Flow was different. It was fluid, natural, and almost instinctive, as though he had been born within its current.

Neither spoke. For several hours, they remained in silence, eyes closed, repairing their bodies and replenishing their strength. The air around them shimmered with energy until, half a day later, both opened their eyes.

The calm was broken by tension.

Cain's gaze sharpened, cold and unyielding. The battle against the Overseer was over, and he wanted answers.

"Speak," he said, his voice echoing with restrained fury.

Few things in the universe filled the Neo-Demon's heart with such icy rage as someone tampering with his destiny. He would not deny that he and the Crimson Exarch had triumphed only by fighting together, but that did not change the fact that the Neo-Angel had used him.

The Crimson Exarch slowly rose to his feet, stretching his aching body. His red glowing eyes met Cain's with calm defiance.

"And if I don't?"

Cain's grip tightened around Sky Devourer. Energy flared around him, thick and oppressive, his killing intent flooding the chamber. He would like to avoid a battle, but he would get his asnwer, one way or the other.

The Crimson Exarch responded in kind, his twin guns materialized, his aura turning sharp and brutal, ready to match Cain's wrath with his own.

For a moment, the air between them trembled under the weight of their power.

Then, the Neo-Angel sighed. His weapons vanished in motes of light, and his expression softened.

"Ah… a deal is a deal," he murmured.

The tension faded slightly as the Crimson Exarch straightened his posture, his tone turning solemn.

"The reason the Overseer saw us as one being," he began, "is because, technically, we are. Your primordial essence, the spark from which your soul and body were born, is the same as mine."

Cain's eyes narrowed. Confusion flickered across his face. A primordial essence was supposed to be unique; no two beings could share the same foundation. Yet it explained everything: their mirrored talents, their shared affinity with the Flow, even their near-identical Thrones.

"Of course," the Exarch continued, "that's where the similarity ends. Our choices, our lives, and our paths are what define us, and in that, we could not be more different."

A wry, almost wistful smile crossed his face as he added quietly,

"I suppose the most accurate word for what we are… would be brothers."

Cain's expression darkened with thought. For several moments, he said nothing, his mind turning over those words. Finally, he asked,

"Our origin…"

Before he could finish, the Crimson Exarch raised a hand to silence him.

"That, I will not share," he said firmly. "If you wish to know, you'll have to find the truth yourself. But heed my warning, when you uncover it, you won't like what you find. Cherish your ignorance for as long as you can. Once it's gone, you'll see the world differently… and you'll wish you hadn't."

Cain stared at him silently. Despite the warning, his eyes burned with quiet resolve. Whatever the truth was, he would face it. No matter how painful, it was better to know than to live in blindness. Still, he understood the reality of their situation.

The Crimson Exarch's strength was not lesser than his own, perhaps even greater in certain ways. To force an answer now would be pointless and reckless.

He sighed, lowering his weapon slightly.

"Then I'll find the answer myself," he said under his breath.

For now, there were other matters to attend to. He turned his attention toward the force wall that surrounded their battlefield. During the fight, it had been reinforced by the Crimson Exarch's energy, concealing them from the others beyond. But now, as the dust settled, the wall had turned a dull gray.

Cain approached and extended his hand toward it, only for the surface to ripple and reject his touch. He wanted to share with Meylin and the other that everything was fine, but it seemed that was not possible.

"It's no use," the Crimson Exarch said quietly. "There's no way back. The only path is forward."

He looked toward the Eighth Ring's gate with a faint smile.

"Shall we?"

Cain regarded him for a long moment, then nodded once. The enmity between them had not vanished, but it was tempered by mutual understanding, and perhaps, buried beneath the silence, a faint trace of kinship.

Together, they stepped across the radiant gate.

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