"I got it..."
Bel's voice cut through the chaos. His body finished regenerating, the cruciform wound on his chest sealing as if it had never existed.
He hovered there, white dragon wings beating steadily against the void's pull, claws flexing as he gripped the Void Orb. It shifted in his hand, elongating into a sleek, obsidian sword pulsing with latent energy.
Without pause, he bolted forward, slashing at the air itself. The blade whistled, carving a violet arc that ripped through a cluster of reforming puppets.
Threads snapped like over-taut strings, their forms dissolving into wisps. As he moved, his mind raced, piecing together the puzzle.
This whole place... It's not a battlefield. It's the King's authority itself. A giant, ever-shifting attack. Every puppet, time slowing, all of it...it's him. It's one giant attack. That's why he feels omnipresent, why attacks come from anywhere.
