Ethan spared Leon a final, indifferent glance; not mercy, not cruelty, just the calm dismissal one gave to a storm that had already spent its rage.
His hand rose slightly.
That was all it took for the battlefield to be quiet.
And in that silence, the tiny orbs orbiting his right hand pulsed with their own soft hums, like miniature worlds acknowledging their creator.
Silvery-blue.
Golden-brown.
Dark purple.
Dark blue.
Ink-black.
Grey-blue.
Crimson red.
Crimson-violet.
Bright white.
Each one rotated with its own rhythm, its own gravity, each leaving faint streaks of power behind them like comets trailing through a private cosmos.
"Psychic. Earth. Necromancy. Alchemy. Curse. Sound. Blood. Creation. Dark magic…" Ethan murmured, his voice low but with a resonance that made the very stones vibrate in agreement.
"So many voices… so many truths."
