The Crown of Twilight blazed above Arthur Nightingale's brow like a constellation given form, its Grey radiance casting impossible shadows across the battlefield. Reality itself seemed to bend slightly around the manifestation, acknowledging something that transcended normal classification. For the first time since their confrontation began, Gideon's burning eyes reflected something that might have been genuine uncertainty.
"Impossible," the Second Calamity breathed, his enhanced senses struggling to process what he was witnessing. "No mortal should be capable of manifesting—"
His words died as Arthur moved with fluid precision that belonged to someone who had finally understood the fundamental nature of their own existence. Nyxthar carved through the air in patterns that seemed to rewrite the laws governing space and time, Grey energy flowing through the legendary blade as naturally as blood through veins.
