Varythos strolled into the training room, his usual confidence faltering the second he caught sight of Rose. He froze mid-step, his wings cringing as his crismon eyes widened in sheer disbelief.
What… in all the realms… was this?
Before him stood Rose, panting, struggling, her entire body locked in what looked like an intense battle—against her own dress. She looked seconds away from collapsing, and when she turned to face him, her expression flickered through at least three emotions in rapid succession: surprise, relief, and utter betrayal.
At first, she had expected to see Lucifer, probably standing there with his usual cold indifference. But instead, it was Varythos. And worse? He had the audacity to look sorry for her.
That was it. She had officially lost.