The devouring pull unleashed by the Bizarre Spirit did not falter. Its endless inhalation rumbled across the desert, sucking in sand, bones, and shredded pieces of ancient debris buried beneath the dunes. Yet the moment Grey's right hand blurred and dissolved into a hazy silhouette of that same ancient sword, the Bizarre Spirit abruptly faltered, as though struck by an emotion it had long forgotten.
For an instant, its breathless inhalation ceased.
The low moans it had been producing warped into ragged gasps of terror.
Its distorted, shifting face, always a chaotic smear of features, twisted further, but now with unmistakable shock and primal fear. The black fog that composed its form trembled violently as it attempted to retreat, drifting backward like a shadow desperately fleeing the light.
But Grey did not give it the chance.
His arm descended.
