Lord Evlon staggered back to his feet, clutching his wounded arm. Life magic played between his fingers, but his flesh was slow to regenerate this time. His soul was nearly spent.
"Why are you so damn hard to kill," he gasped, clutching his wound.
He turned his glare at Victor, who had retreated far from our sight and now stood still, grimacing in pain. The hero's armaments whirled around him, idly cutting down any Risen or demons that got too close.
"This is your fault. Why didn't you kill her when you had the chance? Do you know how hard I worked to set this up? How much I sacrificed?" Evlon shouted. He took a deep breath, forcibly restraining himself, and turned to Connor. "No matter, the water hero is only seventh level. There's still time before the demons arrive. You've been holding back, haven't you? Bring your horde in, and we'll pull them apart with numbers. I'll cut in and–"
"No, I don't think so," Connor said suddenly.
