This is a demon at war with itself and the world, a last stand entity, embodying the phrase scrawled in earlier visions: 'Ready for war, body of crosses... Me and my demons, trying to get along." ...Stigmata of a self crucified warrior.... No longer did the voices fight for dominance; they aligned in uneasy brotherhood, a choir of damnation, singing only one hymn defiance. Each a demon, once chained in the marrow, now loosed yet still tethered. They snarled, they whispered, they laughed yet they fought as one. The Cross Bound had spent centuries at war with itself. This was the battlefield incarnate: a last-stand soul that refused both surrender and oblivion. The Cross Bound did not seek redemption. It sought only the beautiful instant when every blade, every demon, every cross, every screaming thought met the enemy in perfect, unbreakable unity. And in that moment swords raised, whispered to the void its only creed: "Ready for war. Body of crosses. Me and my demons... finally trying to get along." It would stand until the stars themselves blinked out. Not as saviour. Not as monster. Simply as the one who would not kneel.