Amon's crimson aura flared violently, bursting outward in a shockwave that rattled the stones underfoot.
Then he lunged, his body contorting as one arm stretched unnaturally forward.
From it erupted a torrent of blood, twisting and reshaping into dozens of grasping hands, each one clawing toward me as if eager to drag me down into the dirt.
I stood my ground, watching with a detached calm.
The sight was grotesque—visually creative, sure, but grotesque all the same.
Dozens of coiling arms made from living blood, writhing and clutching, an attack meant to overwhelm by sheer spectacle as much as force.
Disturbing, yes.
Effective? No.
Not against me.
I raised my hand, movements steady, and gathered mana until it burned hot in my veins. The spell ignited at my fingertips, fire concentrating into a piercing lance of pure destruction.
"Inferno Lance."
The words left my lips like a sentence passed.
The flaming spear shot forward, slamming into the tide of blood-hands.
