The hellstorm had swallowed everything. Demonic energies tore through the air like invisible blades. The ground beneath no longer looked like land; it was a sea of cracks, bones, and frozen blood.
Daniel stood at the center of the storm. Orsius's body was cracked. His left arm was almost numb. Every breath felt like glass stabbing into his chest.
He was so badly injured that even his regeneration ability had clearly weakened.
But he was still standing. Wargon was several meters ahead, his massive mace resting on his shoulder. His eyes were shining.
Daniel slowly raised his head. His gaze fixed on the massive attack rushing toward him. If it hit him, he would definitely end up on the edge between life and death.
He even doubted whether the demons' healing and regeneration could save him at that point. Right now, he only had one option left.
