Leo no longer fought with restraint. His every move carried the precision of a predator and the cruelty of a god who'd grown drunk on power.
The ground beneath them had become a frozen wasteland, roots turned brittle, trees shattered into glass-like splinters. Glain's breathing grew shallow, his robes torn and stained with frostbitten blood.
"You've lived long enough, old man," Leo said coldly, gathering divine energy in his hand, a swirling mass of blue-white light that hummed with destructive intent. "Let me grant you peace."
Glain lifted his staff weakly, the wood trembling as he tried to summon another spell. But his body betrayed him. His vision swam, and for the first time in decades, he felt the weight of age truly pressing down.
So this is it, he thought, to fall not by time, but by arrogance.
Leo's attack reached its peak, the frozen light expanding like a miniature sun. "Farewell, Druid."
The blast fired blinding and absolute.
