Bram hurled himself into the air, spear raised high, a golden dragon roaring along its length—a tempest of spiritual power rushing down in a wave that could crush worlds. His eyes, filled with bitter arrogance, narrowed on Ethan below.
"Ethan, you will pay a heavy price for what you have done!" His decree, given from above, thundered down in tandem with the spear's impending strike.
The golden dragon's breath surged, fierce and wild, spear intent multiplying, cascading across the sky like a hurricane. The ground trembled beneath its pressure; the very air grew heavy as Bram unleashed the culmination of his years of dominance.
But Ethan did not move. His eyes flickered with something deeper—unyielding, ancient, unspoken.
A Scythe appeared in his grip; its blue curves gleamed coldly against the gold.
The Moonflood Scythe, origin and even grade unknown, came to life beneath his fingers.
