Raphael went still.
The pressure of that gaze was real and specific, not the generalized weight of being watched, but the particular sensation of being evaluated by something that had the standing to evaluate.
Crossing distance and time both, landing on him with a familiarity that didn't quite make sense given that they had never met.
Lv14. Demon Lord Candidate. Superbia.
The same cardinal sin.
His vision blurred at the edges.
The illusion broke completely.
He was back in the ruined training ground, standing among the ancient bones and corroded weapons, the sky above the castle walls simply dark, no red, no projections, just the ordinary black of a country night and a few stars too weak to matter.
Everything from the past few minutes had the quality of a dream recalled immediately after waking, still vivid, but already losing the sense of having been real.
He checked himself. No blood anywhere on his clothing.
