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The corridor fell into a heavy silence as Diavolo, the Demon Prince, halted before the sealed door. From within came a muffled, frantic scratching, a dissonant rhythm of distress. A gentle knock yielded no answer. He pushed the door open. The room beyond was a landscape of ruin—debris scattered, curtains torn to ribbons. Amidst the wreckage, a figure lay hidden, a still shape beneath the bed sheets. Diavolo's pale golden eyes narrowed with deepening concern as he crossed the threshold, his immense frame moving with a tenderness that belied his power.