The swell crossed the last stretch of broken sand in an instant and the worm burst upward with the full rage of its massive body behind it. Dunes collapsed and stone cracked under the force of the emergence. Its circular maw opened into a monstrous tunnel of torn flesh and broken teeth, wider than before because Trafalgar had made it that way, the inner seam stretching pale and vulnerable beneath the darkness of its throat.
That was the moment.
Trafalgar moved.
Mana rushed through Maledicta so violently that the blade seemed to drag the air into itself. The pressure around him narrowed until there was nothing left but the worm's open maw and the line he had been building this whole fight toward. He had read its rhythm above the sand, followed it beneath the earth, carved its mouth apart piece by piece, and dragged it into the exact charge he wanted. There was nothing improvised in what came next.
[Morgain's Final Crescent]
The strike left his body in one ruthless motion.
