His voice cracked halfway through the shout, raw from strain and panic, echoing harshly through the chamber. Spent mana clung to the air, sharp and unpleasant, the lingering residue of a ritual pushed past its safe limits.
Sebas's hands shook openly now, fingers twitching as if his body still expected power to answer him. It didn't. Whatever they had been trying to force back had refused them, and the refusal had come at a cost.
Sweat ran down his temples, breath coming too fast, too shallow, the signs of a mage who had burned himself close to empty.
"You're nothing but a fucking foreigner! A worthless disgrace to magic! If it wasn't for Van Dijk! If it just wasn't for that bastard! And you meddling fucker…" Evan's words piled on top of Sebas's rage, louder, less controlled, fueled more by desperation than hatred.
