[A Few Months Later]
The courtyard was alive with an air of anticipation.
The skeletal trees lining the edges seemed to whisper secrets to one another, their barren branches casting eerie shadows under the pale, ghostly moonlight.
The crowd gathered, a sea of Undead Generals clad in dark armors adorned with runes and sigils.
Their hollow eyes gleamed with excitement, reflecting the shimmering purple glow emanating from the figure at the center of the courtyard.
Grimm stood tall, far larger than any child of his apparent age should have been.
His form was cloaked in writhing darkness, tendrils of purple energy swirling around him like a storm.
His skull-like mask glinted, the empty sockets radiating an unsettling yet captivating light.
Each movement he made exuded raw, untamed power—a perfect blend of his father's corruption and his mother's grace.
Seated on a throne of blackened stone, Lucius watched the scene unfold.
