The chamber was no longer filled with the clang of steel alone—it was filled with disbelief.
Mia stood at the forefront, eyes narrowed, lips pressed into a tight line. She had seen countless battles, had stood across from enemies who bore strength beyond reason, but this? This didn't add up. Loren Vance, the arrogant heir who had mocked others for their bloodline and rank, was still on his feet against Erebus—the devil's wolf, a beast suffused with pure killing intent.
Every strike should have ended him. Every mistake should have spelled his death. Yet somehow, by sheer will or instinct, Loren was still alive.
"Impossible," Zion muttered, breaking the silence among them. His knuckles whitened around his spear, the wood creaking under his grip. "No one survives that thing's true strength. Not unless…" He trailed off, unwilling to voice what the thought implied.
