Theron blazed by the Patriarch as the latter looked down at his body. It was only the faintest white mark, the blade skidding across him as though a line of chalk rather than a weapon that had reaped countless lives by this point.
However, it hit the Patriarch's mind as though a bomb had gone off.
Had he just… suffered such an attack… from a Silver Mancer? If he hadn't dodged the black dagger and it was allowed to cut him as well, would he have come out so unscathed?
If it had been just a little bit longer, just a little bit faster…
A subtle hint of fear grew in the Patriarch's heart.
He spun around, fast, and just as expected, Theron was already coming.
Seriousness marred the Patriarch's expression and he flipped over a palm, a whip of deathly black taking shape, writhing and lengthening in the currents.
Theron saw the weapon, but it was almost as though he looked right through it, like the Patriarch hadn't just summoned it at all.
