I lifted Nyxthar and began to swing.
The first movement was basic—a simple vertical cut that I had performed ten thousand times in practice. But something was different. Instead of trying to channel Grey through complex patterns or force it into techniques I had learned, I simply let the energy flow naturally through the blade as it carved through the air.
"Finally ready to die properly?" Gideon asked with amusement, his molten axe pulsing with increased intensity. "I was beginning to think that woman would keep you locked away forever."
I didn't respond, focusing entirely on the sword in my hands. The second swing followed the first—a horizontal slash that cut through the space where Gideon's miasma hung thickest. Where the blade passed, the corruption didn't just dissipate—it transformed, becoming something neutral, balanced.
That was new.
"Arthur," Rachel called from behind me, her Purelight intensifying around both of us. "Your injuries—"
