A second later, the spirit appeared back in the pavilion, and it turned to face Alaric, only for pure horror to flood its face as it realized the soul stone was in his hands.
Alaric stood there, battered and bleeding but upright, the soul stone, the source of its immortality, held in his hands, ready to destroy at a moment's notice.
The spirit froze, its arrogance obliterated, staring at the stone in the human's hand with pure terror.
"Order the retreat of your dogs," Alaric said calmly, despite his miserable state. "Call them off. Pull every spirit back from my team, now. Or I crush this, and you die, and they follow you into oblivion the moment their anchor is gone."
The weakness in his body was quickly spreading, threatening to take away his consciousness.
The spirit trembled, its gaze darting between Alaric's unflinching eyes and the stone that held its life.
