HUMMMMMMMMMMM.
A low, sickening vibration resonated through the bedrock.
Across the valley, the churning steam and bubbling red magma clinging to the cliff face suddenly ceased to smoke. The vapor did not drift with the wind—it was shredded into microscopic ash by an expanding, suffocating aura of pure, cosmic malice.
From the boiling lake of slag, heavy footsteps stepped onto the cooling rock.
Clack. Clack.
Liu Tong strode forward.
His broad, stone-grey chest was immaculate. The molten rock had not scorched a single inch of his skin; the jagged black runic brands across his flesh pulsed with chilling tranquility. His wild, deep-crimson hair whipped lightly in the draft, entirely unblemished.
He tilted his head to the side, vertebrae popping with sharp, dry snaps.
Both of his eyes—burning with crimson pupils that coiled with deep, abyssal violet energy—locked onto Shaurya. A cold, venomous smirk curled his lips, filled with absolute, condescending amusement.
