Zen rose slowly to his feet, brushing the clinging dust and fine debris from his torn clothes with deliberate, unhurried motions.
Small clouds of gray powder drifted upward in the dim light of the battlefield.
"I see," he said, his voice calm but laced with a strange curiosity. "I can't dodge your attacks. And strangely… I can't hit you."
An intriguing look crossed his face, half fascination, half growing unease, as he studied Greg with narrowed eyes.
Greg offered no reply.
His entire focus remained locked on one singular goal: ending the life of the Demon Prince of Envy.
Words were unnecessary; only death would answer.
"If I don't get serious," Zen muttered under his breath, "I fear I might find myself standing at death's door."
His eyes suddenly flared a vivid, unnatural red, the glow intensifying until it seemed to bleed into the surrounding air.
