Zareth stepped out of the burning forest.
Each footstep crushed ash and embers beneath his boots. The roar of fire faded behind him, replaced by an unnatural silence. No wind howled here. No flames crackled. The darkness ahead felt thick, heavy but alive.
His sword hung loosely in his hand, the blade still humming with leftover wind mana.
"So you crawled into the shadows," Zareth said coldly. "Fitting."
He advanced without haste, eyes locked on the broken figure ahead.
Amon lay motionless against the rock. Blood stained the ground beneath him. His chest rose slowly, unevenly. His weapons were still out of reach. Any normal warrior would have been dead ten times over.
Zareth raised his sword.
"I gave you enough respect, boy… wait, I guess I didn't give any," he said. "This ends now."
He stepped closer. The shadows beneath Amon twitched. Zareth's eyes narrowed. But again, he was late. He was too relaxed.
The shadow beneath Amon's body exploded upward. It spread violently.
