Avradren was furious. The impact still rang through his jaw as he pushed himself up, spitting blood. Renny walked toward him slowly, eyes cold and fixed.
"You're not leaving with that key," he said.
Avradren wiped the blood from his lip and smirked, though the anger beneath it was clear. "Didn't expect that, Ezraphor. Tell me… how the hell did you break free? No one below my grade has ever escaped that spell."
Renny stopped a few paces away. "I'm an Ezraphor. Remember that."
Avradren's smile widened, ugly and promising violence. "Right. Then I'll make sure you remember what that name's worth when I'm done with you."
He extended both arms, summoning his demonic weapons—twin chakrams, one in each hand, their edges serrated and glowing with orange sparks like burning metal.
"You know," Avradren said, almost laughing, "using my weapons on a Grade Two demon is pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. But you pissed me off, so consider this a lesson in respect."
