The Infected Supreme did not slow.
He must had been a Wood Elf of extraordinary beauty, but the Scourge had twisted that grace into something deeply unsettling. His long hair floated around him like strands of black vines, while dark, bark-like patterns spread across his pale skin. His emerald eyes had turned into hollow pools of purple, and countless tiny leaves drifted around his slender figure, moving even when there was no wind.
Yet it was his unnatural calm that made him terrifying. He floated through the void as though strolling through his own forest, utterly unconcerned by the three Grand Magus standing in his way.
Typhon struck first, charging like a comet wrapped in flaming clouds, his claws aimed at the creature's throat. The Supreme twisted aside with unnatural grace, then swept one hand through the air.
