Richard's body hung suspended, feet kicking, arms thrashing-but none of it mattered. Akumo's grip, forged through centuries of raw battle and hardened spirit, didn't budge. His eyes remained calm-cold and ancient, unbothered by the violent storm raging inside the boy he had chosen to revive.
The corrupted aura that had taken over Richard snarled inside him like a beast. His head jerked back, his eyes glowing with the dangerous mix of white and black energy from the remnants of the two wrestling spirits. Snarls escaped from between his lips. Twisting, he flailed, and yet… Akumo's hand was unmoved, steadfast as a mountain.
"You cannot break free," Akumo said quietly, though the quietness was more terrifying than any roar. "Not like this."
But Richard-or rather, the devilish spirit overtaking him-was clever.
Too clever.
