Fredrinn, clutched the stump of his bleeding shoulder, struggling to stay on his knees.
His eyes were locked on the figure at the center of the golden light that had appeared in the middle of the battlefield, piercing the pitch-black darkness around it.
This child shone with a divine purity, as if he were a Saint.
His presence was an affront to the very nature of the Shadow Realm; an anomaly that rejected and defied its darkness, its despair, and its decay.
However, Fredrinn knew this was not normal. His instincts were screaming.
There were no known Saints in the world right now. Especially not a child capable of using holy mana on such an overwhelming, massive scale... It was impossible.
But what truly sent shivers down Fredrinn's spine was the stark contradiction within this divine tableau.
The child didn't look like a Saint at all.
