Without a word, Sylvathar vanished.
The very fabric of air where he once hovered trembled, then ruptured with a concussive burst as the demon lord blitzed toward Galen like a living projectile. His body shimmered with layered emerald earthen plating, jagged like obsidian-coated armor, pulsing with internal veins of molten gold. With a flick of his fingers, massive stone spires burst from the ground below—towering pillars spiraling upward, chasing Galen like teeth from the world itself.
But Galen had already shifted.
He vanished in a whisper of red light, appearing midair with one leg extended, spinning into a brutal ax kick aimed at Sylvathar's shoulder. The strike landed—but Sylvathar crossed his arms in an X-guard, the impact splitting the sound barrier with a crack that shattered nearby floating stones into powder.
Galen somersaulted backward in midair, planting his feet on one of the ascending spires. His red eyes glowed brighter now.
Sylvathar grinned darkly.
