Max's body followed her like a magnet pulled by an invisible force. The rune dragged him into the sky, his speed surpassing anything he had ever achieved on his own. The wind screamed past him as the ground blurred below.
His chest rose and fell with sharp, controlled breaths as the eastern horizon came into view. His heart was not racing because of fear. Fear had no place in him anymore. What coursed through him was a deeper fire, one born of rage, guilt, and a thirst for vengeance that had grown sharper with every battle.
If anyone asked him whom he hated most in this world, the answer would not be the demons. He hated them with every fiber of his being, but before the demons had resurfaced, there was one name already etched onto his killing list. That name was Mark.
