Asher stood at the center of the apocalyptic ruin he had created, the forest around him still trembling from the aftershocks of his destruction. His body remained flawless, unshaken, as though the annihilation of every assassin within a hundred-meter radius had been nothing more than a mundane exhale.
Flames licked the charred ground, molten stone hissed beneath his feet, and shredded fragments of terrain hovered in the heated air like suspended dust. Yet Asher stood perfectly calm, untouched by the devastation.
But the world of Crymora seemed tired of the sight, tired of witnessing Asher aura-farm through every confrontation, tired of watching him effortlessly erase lives as though sweeping aside dust.
