He was fundamentally different from the other creatures inhabiting the Land of Survival.
He carried within him a power that should never have belonged to someone like him.
And there was something particularly cruel about that revelation.
Agaroth... The Demon King had spent an immeasurable amount of time pursuing greater power, seeking the means to transcend the limitations imposed upon his existence. He had gone so far as to betray Frey, sacrificing their friendship in his pursuit of something that would allow him to reach beyond the boundaries of the world.
Yet even after everything he had done, he had never succeeded in obtaining what Snow had possessed since the moment of his creation.
The power of the Writers.
The very thing that separated the creators of worlds from the beings who lived within them.
Snow had carried it all along.
And he had never known.
'So... this is what I am?'
His voice was barely audible.
