Zen stared speechlessly at the shattered remnants of his once-mighty spear, the jagged shards scattered across the scorched earth like broken promises.
His aura, once a roaring storm of demonic power, now flickered weakly, shrinking inward as the weight of reality pressed down harder and harder.
He could feel it slipping away, his pride, his strength, his certainty, evaporating into the smoke-filled air.
He lifted his gaze slowly to Greg, eyes dimmed and empty, the crimson glow reduced to a faint, barely-there ember.
No fire remained, only ashes of what had been.
Step. Step. Step.
Greg advanced with deliberate slowness, each footfall measured and unhurried.
Heaven Defier dragged behind him, the blade scraping along the cracked, blood-slick ground with a low, grating screech that sent tiny sparks dancing upward in erratic bursts.
The sound echoed across the ruined battlefield like a grim metronome, counting down to the inevitable.
