"I suppose she won't be coming after all," Pride said, almost to himself.
There was genuine regret in his tone, as if he'd been expecting someone important and had just been stood up.
Wendelina's eyes narrowed. Her hands were still raised, power crackling between her fingers, the silver light of origin energy casting sharp shadows across her aged features.
"We haven't finished yet, demon," she said coldly.
"The boy can wait.
Right now, I need to kill you."
Pride's shoulders shook with silent laughter.
When he spoke, amusement colored every word.
"You think you can?"
"I can," Wendelina said flatly.
"And I will."
She took a step forward, and behind her, two dozen witches mirrored the movement. Their combined power built like a rising tide, the air itself humming with gathered energy. Origin techniques began to take shape—binding circles, destructive lances, elemental fury waiting to be unleashed.
Pride tilted his head slightly, the gesture almost bird-like.
