The world did not crack. It did not break.
It simply shifted.
Lindarion did not wield his power as an attack, nor did he unleash it in a reckless wave. That would have been an insult to what he was.
"Die."
He commanded.
Darkness bled into the space where the creature stood, threading through the air like ink dissolving in water, slow at first—too slow, as if testing the shape of reality itself.
The thing that should not exist trembled, its grotesque form reacting not in fear, not in pain, but in something far worse—recognition.
It completely understood its fate.
But knowing the inevitable did not mean it could resist it.
'It's time to end this.'
Lindarion tightened his grip on the parchment in his hand, the unbroken seal pressing into his palm as his magic expanded—not in tendrils, not in forceful grasping, but in an inevitability.
It did not matter what this thing was. It did not matter how it had come to be.
Because it had never belonged here in the first place.
