It wasn't quite clear what Lazarak had done. Damon was sure his power was a darkness attribute, yet this was something else entirely.
"Is that a spell?" he muttered.
But he didn't feel any magical energy at all. It was as if the world itself had acted in Lazarak's will.
The mirror seraph collapsed with its domain. Liquid mirror spilled from its wounds as it slumped forward, limbs limp. Its once terrifying form was riddled with deep gouges, its former magnificence torn and hollow.
Lazarak fell to one knee, his tiny body trembling as though he had pushed himself too far. Slowly, he rose. A deep, ancient, fearsome aura poured from him. Darkness unfurled behind him like a cloak as he walked toward the fallen seraph.
He stopped in front of it. Even in toddler form, even with it kneeling, the seraph still towered above him. Lazarak raised his small hand and touched its head.
