Amende roared into the skies, his fury peeling through the layers of the world. He had never felt so suffocated in his life—it was as though magma was rolling through his veins, charring his heart and burning his inner organs to ash.
And yet, as though to add insult to injury, this outward display of emotion only gave Sylas more openings to take advantage of—one rain of attacks after another, comboing in a relentless tidal wave.
Sylas had been ready for others to interfere at any moment now, but the irony of it all was that they were stricken by too much fear to do so. They weren't afraid of what Sylas would do to them—though that worry was certainly increasing with every passing moment.
Their real fear was Amende tearing them limb from limb. Which of them wasn't aware of his fiery temper? Which of them didn't know the sort of punishment they would experience for getting on his bad side?
They had entire armies, and yet not one of them even thought of trying to interfere.
