For the first time in centuries, Xel'Kazur felt something he had long believed was beneath him—fear.
Jack remained on the temple's balcony, smirking, watching as Amaterasu and Kali descended the grand staircase toward the so-called Deathlord. The contrast was almost absurd—Xel'Kazur, draped in his tattered black robes, his decayed aura warping the very air around him, facing two divine beings who did not take him seriously in the slightest.
His necrotic energy swirled violently, summoning a wave of black mist, a cloud of death meant to consume the souls of all who stood in its wake.
Amaterasu merely lifted a hand.
With a flick of her wrist, the mist vanished, burning away instantly as if it had never existed. The air around them grew hot, too radiant for undeath to exist in her presence.
Xel'Kazur stumbled back.
"You—"
He didn't get to finish.
