The crimson skyline of the demon city bled into the horizon as Ashwing's wings cut through the air in sharp, deliberate strokes. The wind tore at Lindarion's coat, but beneath it, his fingers rested on the hilt of the newly claimed blade. Its weight was strange, heavier in intent than in steel.
Ashwing dropped low, talons clanging against the black stone of the main gate. A startled guard in jagged armor stumbled forward, spear lowering automatically.
"You can't just—"
The words never finished. Lindarion blurred. His boot slammed into the guard's chest, sending him sprawling back into the wall with a crack of bone and armor. Before the man could crumple, Lindarion was already there, one hand gripping the front of his breastplate, lifting him effortlessly off his feet.
The guard gagged, air wheezing through his teeth.
Lindarion leaned in, voice low, the faint gleam of the sword's black edge visible under his coat.
