Suddenly, the glowing stone in the commander's hand turned a violent, jagged shade of purple. It began to vibrate so intensely that it burned his palm.
"What... what is this?" the commander stammered, shaking the stone. "The readings... they're off the charts! It says something is right here! Right above us!"
The Young Master's bored expression vanished in an instant. He looked up, his silk robes snapping in a wind that hadn't been there a second ago.
High above them, silhouetted against the dying sun, a figure was descending. He didn't use a ship, and he didn't use clunky spiritual flight. He drifted down like a god returning to his throne, his amethyst eyes glowing with a light that made the Crimson Sect's armor look like dull lead.
"You're right about one thing," Ethan's voice drifted down, cool and terrifyingly calm. "The Deacon was a coward. But he wasn't lying about the danger. He just didn't have the words to describe what was coming for you."
