MALPHAS POV
The iron gates of the magma-elevator didn't just open; they shrieked, a mechanical death rattle that announced our return to the world of the living. And then, the sunlight hit.
To a Lord of the Under-Realm, the sun isn't "warmth"—it's a physical assault. It felt like ten thousand needles made of pure, divine glass were being driven into my retinas.
Damn it! My skin, already sensitized by the "Audit" in the bathhouse and the subsequent draining of my mana, felt like it was beginning to char.
My knees, those treacherous, human-feeling hinges, threatened to buckle and dump me unceremoniously at Seraphine's boots.
I am a god, I reminded my failing nervous system. I am the King of the Deep. Even if I am currently as magically potent as a damp matchstick, I will not collapse like a common Victorian heroine.
Beside me, Sir Alex stepped out into the light, his silver armor catching the rays and reflecting them back at me with a blinding, self-righteous glare.
