The collapsing palace groaned like a dying beast.
Stone walls twisted as if writhing in agony, marble pillars warped into jagged spirals, and cracks split the sky into thousands of glowing fragments. Every breath tasted of mana—dense, metallic, electric—as if the entire world were being rewritten in real time. The fractured dimension Aamon had forged was falling apart under the weight of holy mana leaking in from outside and the brutal clash of three overwhelming powers inside.
Zero sprinted across a breaking platform of obsidian marble, his boots skidding as a claw of demonic force tore through the air behind him. He didn't look back. He didn't need to.
Parallel Memory had already shown him the swing.
Shown him the angle.
Shown him how close it would come to taking his head off.
