"Show you?" Venom echoed the words.
Could he? Has he already been brought to his limits.
The air had started to reek of smoke and sweat.
Ash drifted from the collapsed tavern, curling like ghostly fingers in the cold Ranevian wind. Debris lay scattered across the stone — shattered tankards, splintered chairs, a man's torn arm twitching near the doorway.
Venom streched his arm again.
His breathing was ragged, blood painting his skin in streaks. Deep gashes ran along his back and ribs, evidence of Lan's relentless pressure. His axe trembled slightly in his grip—not from fear, but fatigue.
Lan stood across from him, unmarked.
The Devil's Lie hummed in his hand. Still sealed, still dormant… yet it seemed to watch, as if waiting for something worth awakening.
"You're stubborn," Lan said. His voice was calm. Steady. It had never risen above a conversational tone through the entire battle.
Venom spat blood to the ground again. "And you're relentless."
