The High Lord raised his holy sword high.
His mask tilted just enough to reveal a pair of eyes—cold, detached, utterly devoid of mercy.
He began to chant, low and deliberate, like invoking some forbidden rite. The words were ancient, their cadence heavy with power.
Then—
He brought the sword down.
BOOM—!!!
The moment the blade fell, the world cracked open.
A force of apocalyptic magnitude tore through the air. Space itself split in two, a massive rift ripping outward across the battlefield.
The shockwave hit like a tidal surge, hurling shattered fragments of space like glass shards spinning through a hurricane.
And Ethan—
Was pinned beneath the weight of it.
The pressure crushed down on him like a collapsing star.
Crack—crack—crack—!
His bones screamed, snapping one after another under the strain. He hadn't even been struck yet, and his body was already on the verge of being pulverized.
Worse still—
The spatial force unleashed by the holy sword had locked him in place.
