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"What was I lacking?" The question rang out in the void.
"In truth, I know the answer. There was too big a gap between our techniques. Even though I modified and evolved them in my own way, they could not be compared to the real deal,” the voice continued.
He didn't expect a reply.
"But that wasn’t the only thing I was lacking, was it? I… I believe that I am strong. I am far stronger than the Demon Kings who perished three hundred years ago,” he continued.
The specter knew this to be a fact.
"I'm aware that this strength isn't entirely my own, but... I don't think that matters. I didn't want to boast or take pride in my strength. I needed power, and you provided as much as was necessary."
It almost felt as if the specter was reciting a soliloquy.
"Honestly, I’m still not sure what you expected of me or what you wanted from me. But since you kept supporting me with your power... that must mean that my choices weren’t entirely wrong.”
With that, the specter fell silent for a moment. He felt a mix of emotions surging from deep inside his heart. They were deep, complex, and sticky. The specter let out a deep sigh as the wave of emotions engulfed him.
"I've failed in the end."
The sigh turned into a bitter laugh.
"I thought I did my best. I thought I could reach him with just a bit more effort. But in the end, I failed."
What had he been lacking in? He had been given the dark power of Destruction, Vermouth’s White Flame Formula and magic, Hamel’s techniques, as well as instincts and intuition befitting the Incarnation of Destruction. Had he been clumsy in orchestrating all...
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