The Regalons emerged inside the territory of their second target.
This club was stronger than Spiral Abyss. Their fortress stood like a crooked tower of bone lacquered with molten curses, surrounded by a moat of gray ichor. The moment Regalons appeared, the entire structure reacted.
Ritual beams shot upward.
Black scripture ignited.
A dome of curses expanded and locked the space.
This time, the battle would not end in one breath.
The fortress resisted.
The club resisted.
Their powers were built for war.
Almond's eyes narrowed, watching the curse dome tighten, compress, and attempt to bind their movement. These bindings were conceptual, not physical. A test perfectly suited for drawing out depth.
"Not enough to keep us out," Almond murmured, though not in pride. In observation.
He drew his blade again.
Not to sever something outright, but to understand.
Grim-Fated Cut pulsed.
His mind sifted through meaning, gathering a new derivative.
Technique: Fate-Drift Rend
