(Music: Percussive Bridge)

Milly stands up from the slab. She is changed. Her movements are no longer serene; they are jerky, chaotic, and aggressive. She looks at her own hands, which seem to crackle with a dark, negative energy.

With a sudden, violent leap, Milly is airborne. She flies off the stage, her movements fast and terrifying, swooping low over the audience's heads.

This is the moment the "warm-up" shatters their reality.

A wave of palpable pressure, a physical push of displaced air, washes over the crowd as she swoops. People duck and scream. Her passing leaves the acrid, metallic tang of the Anathema hanging in the air above their heads. Their disbelief is shattered. This is not a wire act. This is not a trick. The screams are no longer performative; they are real. They are no longer watching; they are targets.

LYRIC: "I'm ill-equipped for this / All-knowing, patient, hungry, wanting..."

Milly, the corrupted vessel, lands with a jarring thud on the stage, turning her malevolent gaze back to Hanavari. The faint blue detailing on Hanavari's leotard now flickers wildly, struggling against the overwhelming dark energy emanating from Milly. Hanavari thrusts her violet-glowing hands forward, sending a concentrated blast of energy towards Milly. The attack is met not with a scream, but with a chilling, guttural laugh that echoes through the rapidly emptying theater. The sound is Milly's voice, yet grotesquely twisted, imbued with the deep, ancient malice of the Anathema.

Milly, without effort, deflects Hanavari's energy blast with a mere wave of her hand. The violet energy dissipates into harmless sparks. Her movements are now fluid, predatory, imbued with a terrible grace. The plum leotard, now completely darkened and seemingly fused with the shadowy essence, makes her form appear almost like a living shadow.

LYRIC: "I'm ill-equipped for this / Confused and hungry, scared and wanting..."

With another terrifying leap, Milly launches herself at Hanavari. The Great Hanavari, who moments ago seemed so powerful, is caught off guard. The possessed Milly is faster, stronger, her every move driven by a malevolent instinct. They collide in a flurry of dark and violet energy, a violent dance of struggle and power. The obsidian slab on the stage cracks loudly, a spiderweb of fissures spreading across its surface as the sheer force of their impact reverberates through the stage. The last few remaining audience members are now in full panic, scrambling over seats, desperate to escape.

LYRIC: "I'm ill-equipped for this / All-knowing, patient, hungry, wanting..."