The air was molten with heat—lava, decay, and a guilt so thick it clung to his skin.
Allen stood before Dolonides, not just with a furious gaze, but with a furious stance. His heart felt like it had been pierced by a thousand blades—blades forged by his own actions. Bitterness swelled in him, like a memory that had long been erased finally clawing its way back.
His limbs shivered—not from fear or cold, for the heat here could even boil egg—but from something far deeper: self-loathing. A despair that whispered he should simply surrender, end it all right here. But no. Immortality had already touched his soul. Death would no longer be so merciful.
"Get out of my way," Allen roared, the words escaping like a strained whisper, laced with the last flickers of resolve.
Dolonides didn't move. His fingers twitched, hungry for violence, but it was his patience that frightened more than any threat.
