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It turned the unassuming Lucian into a gleaming Blood Diamond.

'Blood Diamond'...

My eternal moniker.

Think of Dalton, child, think of Michael and Marion, think of Laura and Moira. Look at all these souls still struggling through the Catastrophe... and look at yourself.

You're right—death is still the device I wield best, and the ending I've always favored.

But I do not see death as 'destruction'.

It drives the mighty to disgrace themselves, the devoted to break their commandments, the pure to sink into filth, and the heroic to commit treachery!

It gives strength to the dejected, compels the silent to shout their ideals, draws real emotion from the self-absorbed, and frees the timid from their inhibitions!

It shows climbers the next foothold, and gives the farsighted the courage to leap. It turns self-proclaimed beacons into the real thing!

It sows meaning and waters flaws. It cultivates truth and fertilizes falsehoods. It turns dying flesh into blooming flowers, and engraves what would fade without a trace!

It is agony without relief, and overflowing inspiration!

It is drama's cause and consequence, its flesh and its soul—the great force behind creation, the law and tether that binds every ideology, every style, every exploration.

It is the appointed end, where all things return to dust!

The Troupe Leader turns to Lucian, that same smile still lingering on his lips. The wind and sand howl around them, but he remains unfazed.

Child, death is also our chance to reunite.

What a shame. Quite a monologue, yet such little applause.

Because I am the only one standing across from you—and the only one who ever could.

Noise sounds out from all directions, and Lucian listens intently.

The Catastrophe rages. Miss.Christine lets out a low howl—something she would normally never do. Their newly acquainted companions scatter in panic, crying out for help in vain...

As the Troupe Leader said, death is unfolding on stage—what began with a few intense scenes has now taken over the entire production.

You say death is our chance to reunite. I completely agree.

So I won't waste this opportunity.

If I may, I'd like to share a few thoughts of my own, now that you've finished your analysis. After all, both you and I know this routine by heart.

The storm snaps off part of the scaffold, sending a shower of sparks. A nearby rug catches fire, and the flames leap dangerously close to Lucian's side.

But he does not even flinch. He stares intently at the person standing before him and removes his hat.

All this time, ever since you reappeared, you haven't even mentioned the many times I've betrayed you. Why?

(Smiles)

Because that is unimportant. Because you are still you, child.

Getting lost in madness, then returning to clarity. Leaving, only to later return... After all the trials and tribulations, a hard-won reunion is all the more precious. In the end, time can forgive all grievances.

Is that so?

I used to think the Crimson Troupe was your quill, your canvas, and your trap. I thought that in this chaotic world, your audiences sought solace in your performances. I thought you were omnipresent and that no one could escape your grasp.

Which is why the plan that I, Shalem, and the Playwright came up with failed.

Back then, I was young—naive and full of pride. We believed we had seen the Troupe for what it really was. But our carefully planned escape turned out to be just another act in your grand play.

In the end, Shalem fled from you in fear, while I came to you.

You returned to my side.

That was the moment when you decided to learn all of my techniques. You resolved to learn everything you could about the Troupe, then use that information to destroy it.

Your plan was to use death to stop death and to use destruction to stop destruction.

Whiteflower, Bladedance, Shadow... the teachers you once learned from all died by your hands.

...As did I.

I remember my voice, wild and cracking with rage... and the sudden warmth that surged from your chest the moment the blade went in. I thought I had destroyed the Crimson Troupe for good.

And despite all that, I still failed.

You didn't die.

Because death is ever-present, and drama is eternal.

Eternal, yes, but after that, I devoted even more time to studying all your greatest works... including myself.

I wore down your eternity, as any slow-witted disciple might.

And at last, I've arrived, once more stepping into your proud creation: a theater of death, of tragedy, of art.

Now, at last, the Catastrophe has finished setting our final stage.

Troupe Leader, my dear teacher, or perhaps I should call you 'Tragodia'.

I am going to destroy everything that is yours.

Lucian unfastens the inhibitor at his throat. The exposed Originium crystals gleam, as if already rejoicing at the song to come.

He offers the Troupe Leader a deep bow, as the clouds behind him come crashing down.