Azarath raised his hand. Invisible energy gathered in his palm—not to kill the body… but to destroy the soul.
Everything was ready. All that remained was the final strike.
Until—
"Am I late?" A laid-back, annoyingly confident male voice echoed through the tomb.
Azarath turned. Daniel, panting, lifted his head. Someone stood at the entrance.
Kayn.
"You bastard… what took you so long? Were those wraiths really that strong?" Daniel narrowed his eyes. It had been about half an hour since the fight started, but this bastard was just now arriving.
"Wraiths? I got rid of them in a few minutes… but well… I went to get reinforcements." He said with a smirk.
Azarath's expression hardened. As Kayn finished speaking, someone stepped out from behind him.
Heavy armor, a long sword on his back, a stern and familiar face.
Marxil. The head of the city's security guards.
"This has dragged on long enough." Azarath's eyes grew more dangerous, a surge of anger boiling within him.
