Jack slammed into Draven's domain like lightning striking the earth.
The eternal sunset painted everything in shades of purple and gold. Crystal-clear streams wound between hills that rolled toward distant horizons, and the grass beneath his feet swayed in the constant, gentle breeze.
Draven stood near one of the streams, lightning crackling around his form. He looked stronger than during their last meeting.
But he wasn't alone.
The God of Death stood beside him, shadows writhing around his body like living smoke.
"Jack!" Death called out, grinning wide. "There's the golden boy! The massacre master himself! How's it feel being the center of attention?"
Jack approached slowly, his boots making no sound against the grass. "Death." He didn't bow or lower his gaze. "Both of you here. What do you want?"
Draven's lips curved into a smirk that carried centuries of earned arrogance. "Straight to business. Good. I like that. Shows you're not wasting time on pointless pleasantries."
