Meanwhile.
A slender hand, encased in silver metal, silently tore through the Ashen Battle Armor and Power Armor, violently piercing Nelom's chest from behind.
Crimson blood ran down the length of the arm.
Nelom's expression was filled with disbelief. He widened his eyes in agony, but the piercing wound in his right lung and the arm still lodged in his chest cavity prevented him from making any sound.
The power of Magic, like thousands of steel needles, ravaged him from within his chest.
"The weak should kneel, accept the humiliation of the strong, and await death in tears, not provoke them and make death a luxury, Imperial Knight."
Nikos's voice had a cold, metallic quality, yet was exceptionally pleasant to the ear.
Had these been a lover's whispers, Nelom might have found them quite stimulating. As it was, the stimulation was clearly a bit much.
He had fought countless campaigns in his life, battling to the death with numerous powerful enemies.
