[: 3rd POV :]
Arcturus' skeletal wings rattled as if caught in a storm of his own fury.
Daniel's calm words had cut deeper than any blade, more insulting than any strike.
His grotesque form, the culmination of every forbidden power he'd carved into himself, crowned by the Blessing of the Apocalypse Knight, should have been enough to make even kings kneel.
And yet, this boy stood there as though staring at an insect buzzing too loudly.
Arcturus' laughter came again, jagged, trembling with rage.
"You dare ridicule me? You dare look upon this form, the apex of despair itself, and call it nothing?"
The Crimson Scythe pulsed in his grip, runes blazing like veins of molten blood, its whispers feeding his madness.
His skeletal chest-maw gnashed with venom, spewing trails of ichor that burned holes in the stone at his feet.
Confidence swelled in him, absolute and unshakable.
