A guttural, near-hopeless roar tore from Malreth's throat.
He could feel it—see it. The golden energy inside him was being stripped away.
This wasn't an attack.
It was judgment.
The Dragon God power he'd stolen—those ancient fragments he'd ripped from their rightful owners—were now being reclaimed, one strand at a time, by the will of their original bearers.
His aura crumbled, vanishing layer by layer.
32 Tier Peak—
→ 32 Tier Base—
→ 31 Tier Early Stage.
And Idra?
She was rising. Fast.
32 Tier Base—
→ Mid Stage.
The golden longsword in her hands surged in response, swelling in size and pressure. Its blade no longer looked like forged steel—it felt alive, like it was carved from the soul of the mountain itself.
"I warned you," Idra said flatly, her voice devoid of warmth, sharp enough to freeze in the air.
"You never deserved Dragon God power."
"Now die."
She brought the sword down.
No elaborate form. No flourish. Just raw, pure execution.
BOOM—!!
