Vincent narrowed his eyes, his gaze fixed on Azriel, who sat upon the ice throne like a monarch surveying his domain.
The moment Azriel spoke, a palpable tension filled the arena. The expressions of the three Horsemen shifted, their faces hardening with a cold, steely resolve. The temperature in the Colosseum seemed to drop further as their disdainful gazes bore into him.
Vincent's voice carried an edge of irritation as he muttered, his eyes never leaving Azriel.
"Subject 666 finally decides to speak… and makes enemies of them all. What an idiot. Why does he always have to act out in the most infuriatingly bizarre ways?"
Arthur, standing beside him, scoffed, his smirk laced with amusement.
"It's exactly how I trained him to be."
Vincent turned to Arthur, his expression darkening.
"What do you mean by that?"
Arthur's smirk widened.