Malachar materialized beside him in a flash of crimson light, massive and imposing.
The Crimson Tyrant stood nearly eight feet tall, clad in ancient armor that seemed forged from solidified blood. His helmet bore twisted horns that curved back like a demon's crown, and beneath the visor, red eyes burned with ancient power. A tattered crimson cloak billowed despite the absence of wind, and in his gauntleted hands rested a greatsword nearly as tall as Marcus himself a blade that had ended countless lives across battlefields long forgotten.
[MP: 100/100 → 50/100]
Vera's eyes widened. "The strange feeling Corvin mentioned about you… it was right."
The others stared at the towering Crimson Tyrant with a mix of awe and fear.
"My liege." Malachar's voice rumbled like distant thunder. "What is your command?"
"Clear the path!" Marcus pointed toward the courtyard. "We're going deeper!"
