In that moment that Wanda came to and their eyes met, her imminent end felt entirely too real, struck him hard in the bleeding organ throbbing against his chest. For that moment his face changed, his vengeful resolve crumbled and revealed his lament. Up to this point nothing had gone his way. He couldn't find her soul, couldn't save it from the hands of--now he knew--Mephisto. Couldn't give her the answers Wanda needed, or stop her from breaking. For that moment, it seemed like all her suffering had been for nothing. Did she think she could give up just like that? Hellstorm clenched his jaw and scowled.
"Like hell."
The room shook again, windmills of flames and arcane energy tugging at the atmosphere. Daimon removed his spear from her body, stepped back to extend his arms to his sides. He closed his eyes and focused, reeling in his magic aura to channel into his last resort. If Asmodeus thought he'd won, that the Son of Satan would finally cut his losses and accept defeat, the little fucker was sorely mistaken. No matter how deep Wanda had sunk, Daimon was going to jump in after her. She didn't get to put him through all this trouble just to leave him now. All the fire in the room drew toward him, climbed up his body, cocooned him in heated energy. Hellstorm closed his eyes, feeling as if he were standing on the edge of a cliff.