Nezha's golden eyes burned brighter as he processed Lucifer's question. His grip on the spear shifted, the faint scrape of his fingers against the shaft filling the charged silence. The boy's face was stoic, but his lips pressed into a thin line—a subtle betrayal of his thoughts.
"The only way I'd stop fighting alone," Nezha began, his voice low but resolute, "is if I could find someone who could make me go all out in a fight."
Lucifer's brows arched slightly, his crimson eyes glimmering with faint amusement. He let out a soft chuckle, his tone warm but laced with something deeper, something darker. "Oh, Nezha," he murmured, shaking his head slowly. His movements were unhurried, almost languid, but there was an edge to them, a restrained energy that hinted at the storm beneath his calm exterior. "You don't want to go down that route. Trust me."
