Evan stood before his gathered army of undead.
They were silently arranging the bodies from the battlefield, lining each corpse with a precise, almost ritualistic order.
The aftermath of the fight against Elya's Master's remaining soul had been ssy.
The backlash of power, the counterattacks, his own retaliation — many corpses were damaged beyond recognition.
But in the end, thirty-six bodies lay in a row.
Beyth. Peyndral. Sylen.
Those three were removed from the line.
Their significance was different.
Evan also placed beside them the real core of Lord, Peyndral, taken from the underground area earlier.
He exhaled sharply.
"Finally. Let see if all of this trouble was worth sothing. If not, I swear, I'm going to knock on that Outer God's front door and explain the concept of consequences to him."
His expression twisted — frustrated, irritated, exhausted.
Arven chuckled in his head.
"I can give you his coordinates. If you want, I can drop you directly at his doorstep."
Evan froze.
"…You can actually do that?"
"Yes. Want to go now?"
"…No. His ti hasn't co yet."
He waved it off imdiately, coughing into his hand.
"Just asking."
He focused again.
His hand extended over the corpses.
"."
The air rippled.
Pale, root-like tendrils surged from his body, wrapping around every corpse and core.
The energy was silent, colourless, and yet suffocating.
Each body trembled as if sothing was being torn out of it — and it was.
Ti passed.
The bodies grew pale.
The process completed.
Then the results appeared before him.
[
Reviews
All reviews (0)