The red pillar tore a wound in the sky.
It was not merely light or energy, but a presence that carried extreme weight. From the shattered selection boundary to the heart of the forest, every living thing felt it. The mutated demons, half-formed things of blood and rage, froze in place, their monstrous instincts overridden by a far more primal fear. Surviving students staggered, clutching their chests as the air grew thick and heavy, and each breath became a struggle to breathe. Trees bent, not from the wind or the weather, but from the sheer pressure of the demonic energy that was present in the battlefield.
Bruce was one of the first to put a name to the massive presence in front of him.
He stared at the crimson beacon, his heart hammering against his ribs, and a single, desperate name took root in his defeated mind.
Lord Mesmer.
In his mind, only one being could command such power.
This had to be his arrival.
His true arrival.
Had he sensed Bruce was in danger.
