The being, torn in half on the ground, looked up at Arty.
His face twisted in rage, but no words came out. It was not because he didn't want to speak, but because he couldn't.
His consciousness was fading fast. He was only an avatar, after all.
After battling Arty, fragments of memory began to return to him.
He was an ancient storm god. He was long dead, then resurrected forcefully by Zerathul.
In his fading vision, he saw only Zerathul himself within Arty's body.
His mind, clouded by confusion and fury, could no longer discern truth from illusion. He didn't see the young girl before him. He only saw the one who had defeated him and enslaved his soul. Then sent him on this task against his will.
Arty showed an unsettling smile. It looked twisted and wrong. Her eyes still pitch black like obsidian stones.
She stared down at the god with a look of pure triumph, and the sight of it fueled his rage.
