As he heard those words full of mockery, the Devil Lord's eyes hardened with a coldness and brutality so absolute it could only have been born from an existence forged in darkness and fire. His gaze was pure horror made manifest, the chilling essence of Hell itself.
The next moment, the vast runes etched across his chest ignited. Black fire surged outward, then condensed, forming a mantle of seething plasma that clung to his frame. The bleeding ceased, shredded muscle reknit, and broken bones fused back together.
Vlad's eyes narrowed. It was an ingenious application of the Law of Death—a fusion of destruction and regeneration, each wound transforming into fuel. The Devil Lord would not go down easily. Yet still, Vlad smiled. His breath steadied, his grip tightened, and with a thunderclap, he flashed forward once more.
