And when I reappeared, I was right in front of Malvrik, whose breath seized as he caught sight of me.
"Wait!" he managed to gasp, his voice trembling.
But I didn't wait, [Gravefang] piercing his throat in a clean, brutal thrust, sliding through flesh with sickening ease.
Malvrik's eyes bulged as he choked, blood immediately welling in his mouth and spilling down his chin.
I ripped the blade free, and he staggered backward, more blood pouring from the wound—thick, dark, and sizzling as it hit the ground. The grass beneath him hissed and curled inward, eaten away by the very fluid meant to sustain him.
What the hell… even his blood was toxic? Disgusting.
He swayed, barely upright, life draining from his limbs. But to his credit—or maybe sheer stubbornness—he didn't fall. Not yet.
