From the heart of the inferno, a vortex of heat and light erupted, forcing the crowd to stagger back. The scent of salt filled the air, sharp and abrasive, as the flames turned white-hot. Gasps rippled through the square as a figure stepped from the fire—untouched, unburned, and unmistakably inhuman.

Mephistopheles emerged in his true form, his skin glowing with the intensity of a forge. His copper hair shimmered like liquid metal, and his eyes blazed like twin suns. Around him, waves of heat rippled outward, warping the air and cracking the stone beneath his feet.

The crowd scattered, their terror palpable. Only the priest remained, clutching his cross and muttering desperate prayers. But even he faltered as Mephistopheles turned his gaze upon him.

“You call this justice?” the devil said, his voice low and resonant. “You who cower behind your symbols and condemn what you cannot understand?”

The priest dropped to his knees, his lips trembling as he struggled to speak.

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Mephistopheles ignored him. His attention was solely on Margaretta, still bound to the pyre. With a wave of his hand, the flames extinguished, leaving only smoke and ash in their wake. Her bindings dissolved into nothing, and she collapsed into his arms.

“You came for me,” she whispered, her voice faint but filled with wonder.

“I will always come for you,” Mephistopheles replied, his eyes softening as he held her close.

But Margaretta’s body was fading, her strength sapped by the fire. She reached up, her fingers brushing his cheek. “You can’t save me,” she said. “Not this time.”

Mephistopheles’ expression darkened, his power surging as he tried to bind her to him, to keep her from slipping away. But the laws of the mortal realm held firm, and Margaretta’s form magically dissolved in his arms, leaving only the faintest trace of her warmth.

The devil’s cry of anguish shattered the air, a sound that shook the heavens and the earth. Lightning tore through the sky, and the square trembled as fissures split the ground. All around him, the city seemed to buckle under the weight of his grief.

And then his gaze found Faouzia and Faust.

“You,” he said, his voice like a blade. “This is your doing.”

Faouzia stepped back, her breath catching in her throat. Faust said nothing, his body frozen as the devil's eyes bore into them.

Mephistopheles advanced, the ground smoldering beneath his feet. “You betrayed her,” he said, his voice rising like thunder. “You betrayed me.”

Before they could respond, the ground beneath them erupted, roots twisting and climbing their bodies as their punishment began.