I twisted mid-air, catching myself in a controlled skid, boots digging trenches into the dirt until I came to a halt.
The healing potion was still clenched tight in my hand, unshattered.
My body unscathed thanks to [Fractured Existence].
I dare not receive the blow end on.
I straightened, my gaze snapping back to where I'd been standing.
My eyes narrowed as recognition hit.
The attacker—the one I thought I had already finished.
His throat, which I had opened wide moments ago, was whole again. The gash had sealed as if it had never been there. And his limbs—the ones I had hacked apart—were back, but not flesh and bone. They were replacements, grotesque prosthetics forged entirely from blood, hardened and glowing faintly with a sickening crimson light. Power pulsed through them like veins carved from liquid fire.
