Kaiser floated midair, eyes closed, arms outstretched as the shadows beneath him churned like a vortex. Then, without a sound, he was swallowed whole into the swirling mass. From that darkness emerged Alzalel—no longer a mere voice in Kaiser's mind, but a towering spectral entity. He stood atop the shadowy whirlpool that served as his torso, four elongated limbs stretched out with haunting grace. His clawed hands flexed, and from beneath a shrouded hood, golden eyes pulsed with radiant fury.
On the other side, Wulf puffed into a wisp of smoke—and was replaced by a figure draped in an ornate, almost theatrical jester's outfit. Her face was deathly pale, a constant, unsettling smirk curving her lips. Harlequin twirled once, gracefully landing on her toes, arms wide like a performer presenting her final act.