Ryan continued his slow, steady advance, each step a resounding declaration of his dominance. Malakor, the Prophet of Chaos, was in a full-blown panic.
He had thrown everything he had at this strange, calm man; rocks, fire, shadow creatures, even the very weight of the world and nothing had worked. It was like trying to punch the tide.
His opponent didn't just resist his attacks; he seemed to calmly un-do them, as if correcting a child's simple mistake.
The cultists, who had been chanting and swaying with feverish devotion, had fallen silent. Their wild, crazed energy was fading, replaced by a growing sense of confusion and fear.
Their all-powerful Prophet, the man who spoke with the voice of the glorious Schism, was losing. Badly.
"Impossible!" Malakor shrieked, stumbling backward as Ryan took another step. "The chaos is the ultimate power! It is the true nature of the universe! Order is a lie! A cage! Why won't you break?!"
