Aaron raised his hands slowly, deliberately, palms facing outward as though conducting an invisible orchestra.
His eyes ignited with a molten gold glow, bright, unnatural, almost liquid metal swirling within his irises.
The light from them cast harsh shadows across his face, sharpening every line of cruel amusement.
Pitch darkness erupted in front of him.
It didn't simply appear; it tore into existence like a wound in reality itself.
The shadow was absolute, deeper than black, hungrier than void.
It pulsed with a living malice, tendrils writhing outward in slow, deliberate curls that seemed to swallow light, sound, and even the concept of distance.
The air around the canopy grew colder, heavier, thick with the scent of old iron and decaying starlight.
The white-hot flames of the Primordial Dragon, pure annihilation compressed into a solar-system-sized inferno, slammed into Aaron's shadow canopy with cataclysmic force.
The collision should have ended everything.
