Cain gazed at the vanishing trace of Azazel until the last flicker of psychic light dissolved into the horizon. His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles whitened. Coldness and rage burned together in his chest—an urge to chase the Depravita down, to finish the battle, to crush that aloof calm forever.
But Azazel had been right.
Their fight, though short, had been beyond explosive. Each clash had rippled across the Everstrife Empyrean World, shaking the oceans, fracturing the skies, and drawing countless eyes. Cain was powerful—extremely powerful by the standards of this world—but power drew predators.
In the Everstrife Empyrean World, strength was not always a shield; sometimes it was a beacon.
