The moment Rin's soul fragment was devoured, the crimson glow faded from Tiberius's eyes. His body, ravaged by the self-inflicted wounds, slumped in Michael's arms, lifeless. There was no time for healing potions, no chance for a last-minute miracle.
Michael sighed, a heavy, weary sound, and gently lowered Tiberius's body to the ground before Lailah.
"Goodbye, my friend," Michael whispered, his voice barely audible. "Be at peace."
He crossed Tiberius's arms across his chest, a gesture of respect, a final farewell in accordance with the customs of the Southern Continent, where Tiberius had been born.
Then, Michael straightened up, his gaze hardening as he turned towards Lailah.
"Now do you care about Rin?" he asked, his voice a low growl. "That… is what the Princess of Murder is capable of. She's not some… circus clown, spouting empty threats. She's the real deal, Lailah. A real piece of work."
