The Wrath of Dire: Endgame at Silver City [Part- 4]
"[Fire Vortex]."
A spiral of flame erupted between Rias and the monster. A roaring column of blazing death tore the night open—ripping it apart. The sudden blast of light and heat hit everyone like a punch to the face, forcing eyes shut, arms raised. It was a wall of fire—no, a storm—a hellfire storm that sucked the air dry, turned it into ash.
Dire staggered back, growling, "What—?!"
Through that burning wall, a figure stepped out. Slow, steady. Flames licking at bare skin but never burning him.
Leon.
His eyes—gold, sharp—burned like they could cut through the smoke, wild hair tossed by the wind. Shirtless, chest marked with half-healed cuts, blood crusted at his jawline. Muscles tight and coiled, every part of him pulsing with raw power. His pants clung wet and dark to his legs, and around him, ash swirled, drifting like ghosts. The air bent around his presence. The aura he carried glowed again—immense, unholy, alive.
