The lunar dust hung suspended in the vacuum, a grey fog of war illuminated by the starlight and the glow of the demon fleet burning in orbit. Through it, the burning eyes of Wrath approached like twin suns. He was charging again, a mindless, repetitive cycle of violence, a hammer that knew only how to strike. Behind him, Envy drifted like a vulture, patient, parasitic, and utterly confident.
I tightened my grip on Valeria, forcing the conceptual edge back into the blade through sheer will. Envy could steal the property, but as long as I held the source—the Grey Divinity—I could reforge it. But reforging took energy, and I was bleeding energy with every second.
'He steals what I project,' I analyzed, watching Wrath's thunderous approach. 'He envies the outcome of my actions. My cuts, my speed, my health.'
If I attacked Envy, Wrath would crush me while I was distracted. If I attacked Wrath, Envy would negate it or reflect it.
