The creature wearing his father's face took another step forward, leaving behind footprints of viscous black ichor that sizzled against the ancient stone. The wounds that had killed Darius Nightblade twenty years ago gaped fresh and wet—a sword thrust through the chest, a half-severed neck still dripping blood, and empty eye sockets where Azurehall soldiers had taken their trophies.
"My son," it spoke again, voice vibrating with unnatural harmonics. "You've grown powerful. Just as I always knew you would."
Reed's grip tightened around his obsidian blade, the weapon humming in resonance with his blue fragment. Behind him, he sensed Shia's tension, felt Vex and Kalia's horrified fascination at the abomination before them.
"You're not my father," Reed said, his voice steady despite the tremor in his chest. "My father died with dignity. You're just wearing his corpse like a costume."
