Cass and Damon shivered at the same time. In their eyes, Zeke was no longer Zeke. His voice no longer sounded like his own, and for a brief moment, an overwhelming presence filled the space around them. They could have sworn they saw a man with four arms, seated on a lotus throne, surrounded by a river of blood. He was clad in red and black battle robes, exuding an aura of unrestrained carnage. One of his hands gripped a weapon with a blade on either side of the handle, and his lips curled into a gleefully murderous smile.
It was only a second, maybe less. They blinked, and the vision vanished. But the sensation it left behind remained, a chilling trace of something ancient and bloodthirsty.
Damon gasped slightly, his breath uneven, while Cass clenched his fists, forcing himself to steady his mind. He had seen something similar before—or rather, he had heard about it. That figure matched the description Zeke had once given of his body in Murim.
