The first seal burst apart, its fragments dissolving into drifting embers of black fire. The abyss howled in outrage, the sound echoing like a thousand gates slamming shut. But already, the second seal was folding in—denser, more intricate, its latticework of chains woven with symbols that writhed like living script.
It struck not as a wall, but as a sphere, snapping closed around him like the snapping of a jaw.
Asher didn't retreat. He twisted his scythe into a reverse grip and drove forward. Bloodlit arcs slashed in cross-patterns, carving red light into the encroaching sphere. Each strike carved deep, yet the cage healed itself instantly, new chains knitting across the wounds.
The seal whispered with every stitch, voices layering over each other, insidious and countless:
"Bind. Still. Silence. Lock."
For a moment, the pressure crushed down on him. His cloak dragged against the currents, his blade slowed, and even his heartbeat felt bound by the encroaching law.
