As soon as Leandra lowered her arms, she paused at the sight.
Her breath was caught in her throat, and her heart lurched violently against her ribs.
Ahead of her, thirty meters away, Lucivar stood.
Just like when the night first started, he still wore the crisp, deep ocean-blue shirt, though the top buttons were torn open, revealing his bare chest. But it wasn't only his honed chest that was revealed, but also a vertical slit of seething, violent light.
An alien scar that had no place in the realms of mortals—an abyssal eye.
In his grip hung a black blade wreathed in a haze of drifting crimson grains, as if the sword bled sand instead of steel. And then, the reptilian white mask. One glance was enough to fracture her vision into doubles, a shifting, maddening thing that gnawed at the edges of her mind like a ceaseless whisper.
'Gods…' Leandra swallowed harshly. 'All three of those things must be tied to the Gods inside him.'
