The controlled, agonizing current from Caelen's [Thunderbrand Touch] sought the core of Velantra's power, a violation so profound it left her gasping, her divine form shuddering.
Her wings, once symbols of majestic grace, twitched erratically. The slight fear in her eyes was a victory sweeter than any Caelen had ever known.
"The Goddess's name," he repeated, his voice a hypnotic murmur that promised both pain and a twisted form of release. "The real one."
He leaned in, the stolen Auroral Edge still sputtering in his grasp, its holy light fighting a losing battle against the runic energy that temporarily bound it to his will.
The essence drain was a cold river in his veins, but the power, the dominance—it was a potent drug.
The scream that interrupted them was not one of divine agony, but of mortal terror and rage.
"MONSTER!"
The cry came from the edge of the grove. A group of elven sentinels stood there, their weapons drawn but their hands shaking.
