With the Demondrake arch lord Cydothan finally revealed, Orion couldn't afford to wait on the first layer of the Abyss any longer. He had to end this, fast, before the creature realized it was a trap and bolted.
In truth, the thought had already crossed Cydothan's mind. The searing pain from the stump where one of his draconic claws used to be was a potent motivator. Orion's last attack had carried a soul-rending effect, and Cydothan discovered with a surge of terror that even his species' legendary regenerative abilities couldn't regrow the limb. The wound was dead.
"That's not going to work, you know."
As the Demondrake arch lord frantically tried to staunch the bleeding, a voice echoed from nearby. Orion stepped through the spatial rift, his presence calm and absolute.
"Who—" Cydothan began, a primal reaction to the intrusion. His question died in his throat as his eyes focused on the newcomer, a wave of recognition washing over him. "Death-Soul Race!"
