"A demigod's will-projection," the Deputy Commander breathed, his voice tight. "So, it was there after all."
He snorted, a sharp, cold sound. For a moment, he prepared to release the echo of his own demigod-will, to locally shatter the Wind Ward and intervene.
But then he paused.
His ancient eyes narrowed, focusing intently on Orion and the faint, shadowy form that clung to his back. In the end, he did nothing. He held the Wind Ward steady, but his full attention was now a burning lens fixed upon Orion.
Inside the ward, the battle for Orion's body raged on.
To be imprisoned within your own flesh is a torment beyond words. Helplessness, frustration, a suffocating powerlessness—a tide of negative emotions washed over him, threatening to erode the bedrock of his will. His muscles, locked in a single pose for what felt like an eternity, began to cramp and burn.
The silent, screaming rage, with no outlet and no release, poisoned his mind and seeped into his very soul. It was agony.
