The face of the True Depravita of Fear was a ruin of flesh and bone. The explosion had burned away skin, shattered cheekbones, and reduced muscle to cinders—yet before the smoke could even fade, his flesh began to knit back together.
Crimson veins pulsed. Bone reformed. Charred skin peeled away, replaced by flawless pale tissue.
Within a single breath, Zarazel stood whole again, as if the devastation had never happened.
That was the terrifying resilience of a True Depravita—beings whose essence was bound to emotions, and emotions were very hard to kill. No matter how much damage one inflicted upon them, it was meaningless so long as their Depravita Aura still flowed. Even if their entire head was blown apart, their soul would remain intact, the body merely reshaping around it.
Most opponents would have despaired at such futility. But Urin did not.
