Fyrgax's remains dissappeared as corvin absorbed him the devestation, result of their brief clash still smoked in the crater of his shattered throne chamber. Corvin stood above the crumbling ruin, the heart of the Dark Sovereign turned to ash in his grip. But something gnawed at him, not dissatisfaction, but stillness. That kill had felt… inert. It was as if the energy he'd consumed had simply filled a cup already brimming.
Fyrgax was powerful no doubt. Archmagus level by magical standards, steeped in centuries of infernal fury. His memories were seared with blood and conquest, his power forged in unending fire. And yet, when Corvin absorbed his essence, his core did not stir. No new height. No fresh surge. No flicker of transformation.
