Zarion crashed into the ground like a meteor, cracking the earth beneath him. Dust and rock shot into the sky. He groaned, his fingers trembling as they touched the massive hole punched through his torso. Blood gushed out as he coughed violently.
"I just… need to regenerate," he hissed.
Behind his head, the floating black throne-crown spun slowly. His flesh began to close—slowly, painfully. Then, suddenly, his eyes widened in horror.
Smoke leaked from the hole.
"What…? It's still burning—! I can't regenerate it!"
He gritted his teeth as he clenched his wound, sweat pouring from his face. "That flame… it's still inside me. It's eating me alive…"
A crooked grin spread across his face.
"So… he can manipulate purple flames now too?"
His voice trembled with a mix of admiration and fear.
Up above, Azreal hovered silently, suspended in the blood-red sky. His body radiated power like a dying star.
Then—
A voice echoed in his mind.
