"The elves," Alaric said, his disgust transforming into something colder, "are responsible for my brother's death."
The dark mana intensified. Rhys's knees buckled, his body refusing to support his weight as the pressure increased beyond what mortal flesh could endure standing.
Sylph tried to generate wind currents, to push back against the suffocating darkness, but her magic scattered like leaves in a hurricane. The Duke's power was undeniable.
"My father," Alaric continued, his voice carrying centuries of hatred," slowly fell because of what happened to his son. When you elves left because you couldn't face the demons..."
Rhys's vision tunneled completely. He could see nothing but Alaric's face, those golden and purple eyes staring down at him with contempt so visceral, akin to physical force.
