Kaiden died again.
And again.
And again.
Some deaths came fast, with a misread feint, a fraction of hesitation, the demon's fist turning his ribs into powder before he could react. Others dragged, Wrath screaming for him to unleash everything as his body failed piece by piece, heat cooking his senses down to raw agony. Each reset tore him back to the start with a gasp, lungs burning, muscles remembering pain they no longer carried.
Wrath hated it.
It surged every time, furious, demanding dominance, demanding he take instead of think. It wanted reckless charges, overwhelming force, the intoxicating lie of power without restraint. Kaiden felt it clawing at the edges of his mind, whispering that victory was one good outburst away.
He didn't let it in.
