"—ARRRGRGRHHHHAAHAHAH!"
The Dream of Madness released a psychic scream so violent that it nearly blacked out the defenders. Vlad clutched his head, blood dripping from his nose. Hajack staggered, his abyssal flames sputtering. Even Orous stumbled in the sky.
Only Metatron remained standing, showing the immense might of his soul and body. Yet this was no blessing. His strength, his refusal to yield, marked him as the perfect target for the entity's hunger.
The Dream of Madness lunged forward, its gargantuan body straining toward the exit of the tomb. Hunger radiated from every inch of its existence—raw, absolute, eternal hunger. Metatron trembled as he realized that he was the target. If this thing escaped, he would be the first devoured.
He could not remember a moment in all his immortal existence when terror had gripped him so utterly. Yet fear did not paralyze him. On the contrary, it awakened something primal—his will to survive.
