[: 3rd POV :]
Arcturus' skeletal wings shuddered, their jagged bones dripping ichor as he forced more of his essence into the fight.
Every strike, every invocation, every law, none of it had even left a scratch on the boy standing before him.
His scythe, his mist, his chains, his guillotine, his dance of slaughter… all shattered like glass upon an unyielding wall.
With each failure, his breath grew more ragged, his fanatic eyes burning with a mixture of disbelief and hatred.
"What is he…?!"
The thought gnawed at him.
Daniel's calm was unbearable, an insult sharper than any blade.
Arcturus' hands shook as he lifted them, crimson cracks spiderwebbing across his flesh.
He snarled, refusing to accept the truth pressing down on him.
"Don't think this is the end!" he roared, his voice breaking with desperation.
The chamber shook violently as he began pulling at everything—the laws of destruction, the authority of apocalypse, the cursed essence granted by his Lord.
