Belphegor's maw yawned open impossibly wide, unhinging with a wet, grotesque crack that echoed across the battlefield.
He inhaled the incoming storm of lightning in a single, greedy gulp.
The black-violet bolts, twisted with abyssal hunger, vanished down his throat without a trace.
Only a faint crackle of residual energy escaped his lips, dissipating harmlessly into the scorched air.
Greg's eyes narrowed, cold and calculating.
He pivoted smoothly, wings flaring as he turned his full attention toward Mammon.
The Greed lord hovered at a cautious distance, wings beating lazily to maintain the gap.
He nocked another translucent arrow, drawing the string back with deliberate precision before loosing it in rapid succession.
"I can also fire arrows," Greg said, a dangerous grin spreading across his face.
The words carried a mocking edge, laced with the quiet confidence of someone who already knew the outcome.
