Back at the Capital.
Dorian sat at the edge of Seraphina's bed, his face a mask of intense concentration.
He gripped her hand tightly, his knuckles white, as he began the arduous process of absorbing the dark, necrotic energy that had begun to multiply within her once again.
Flanking his sides were Maria and Ishtar, their expressions grim.
The royal doctor stood trembling at the far end of the room, keeping his distance to avoid getting caught in the crossfire of the divine and corrupt energies warring in the center of the chamber.
For a long, agonizing while, the room was silent save for the low hum of magic.
Dorian drew the 'Dead Mana' out of Seraphina's cells and into his own, acting as a living filter for the poison that threatened to consume her.
Finally, the flow stopped.
The purple veins on Seraphina's skin receded, leaving her pale but peaceful.
Dorian was free to let go of her hand, but he didn't. Instead, his strength gave out completely.
