Mohg stopped moving.
He slowly turned his head. His face still bore a resemblance to Morgott's, but the fanatical gleam in his eyes was utterly foreign to his brother.
"Brother?" Mohg's voice was gentle. "Have you come for the wedding? Mine and Miquella's."
Morgott's head buzzed.
"You bastard!" the Grace-Given King swore. "You and Miquella are both men!"
"Gender has never mattered in the face of true love." Mohg rose, his robes trailing across the floor. He still held that pale hand as though it were the most precious treasure in the world. "Mother bestowed this union upon me. Look, Miquella is right here, sleeping in his cocoon. I've been with him all this time, consummating our sacred union..."
Morgott had experienced plenty of absurd things in his life.
Abandoned by his own mother, reviled by the world, weathering the Shattering, managing a kingdom in shambles... but the scene before him still exceeded his comprehension.
"You're insane." In the end, those were the only words he could muster.
"Insane?" Mohg laughed, his laughter echoing through the temple. "You're the insane one, brother. You guard that hypocritical Leyndell, serve those ignorant subjects, and play the 'wise' Lord-but who appreciates you? Mother abandoned you. Father vanished. People call you the Grace-Given King to your face, but behind your back, you're still an 'Omen.'"
He released the hand and approached Morgott. "But I'm different. The Mother of Truth accepted me. She gave me a place to belong, a purpose, and... love."
Morgott tightened his grip on the Cursed Sword. "Say whatever you like. I'm breaking your legs and taking you back to Leyndell."
Mohg's expression suddenly twisted. "You want to tear us apart? Brother, even you would stop me from pursuing true love?"
He reached out and grasped empty space. A massive trident