Damon advanced.
He wasn't walking—it was as if he were being dragged by the very flow of the aura. Each step scratched the ground, leaving scorched marks that opened like wounds in the earth. His laughter reverberated through the trees, distorted, half human, half something that shouldn't exist. A mixture of ecstasy and madness.
"I finally understand..." His voice was deep, reverberating as if coming from many places at once. "That was true... the strongest survive."
The elf tried to retreat, but there was no space, no time. The entire world seemed pulled toward the center, toward that demon advancing like a storm of fire and blood.
Damon raised his spear. The blow was neither refined nor elegant. It was raw, savage, charged with the force of a primordial hatred. The blade pierced his enemy's chest with a dull crack.
But it didn't end there.
