Nero raised his head, his chest heaving, blood dripping from his jaw like molten wax. The sharp scent of iron lingered in the air, mixing with the steamy remnants of the Water Knight's destruction.
His legs trembled, barely keeping him upright, yet he stood tall—his flame-tattered cloak fluttering weakly in the breeze of the battlefield.
"What's wrong?" he rasped, his voice hoarse, raw with pain—but burning with defiance.
"Running out of puppets?"
His eyes glared up through blood-smeared lashes, unwavering.
The demonized mage narrowed his glowing eyes, a grimace of displeasure twisting his handsome but distorted face. Cracks of corruption webbed across his cheekbones. He was no longer amused. No longer entertained.
'I don't have much prana left anyway… Maintaining this second form drains me more than expected.'
