Damian gazed at the silent but calm wrath of the old man standing before him, and when he looked at The Hallowed Voice, he felt something he hadn't felt since his transformation.
Danger.
It wasn't the overt, aggressive danger of a warrior preparing to strike or a demon gathering power for an assault. It was quieter than that, deeper, the danger of standing beside a river that looked calm on its surface while currents beneath it ran with enough force to drag mountains underwater.
The Hallowed Voice radiated a power that Damian's Primeval senses registered as genuinely threatening, not because the old man was hostile but because the sheer depth of his cultivation existed on a level where even Damian's elevated existence couldn't dismiss it entirely.
