Chapter 93
The cave trembled.
Outside, the bone wyvern—Anastas's hydra wyvern—clashed violently against the m massive magic beasts drawn by the demonic energy. The Vethral bird, a creature boiling with rage, formed tornadoes that battered the wyvern's skeletal frame. Ribs cracked. Vertebrae splintered. Dragon heads were torn from their necks, one by one.
But the hydra's instant regeneration saved it time and again.
Every time a head was destroyed, two more grew in its place. Every time a wing was shredded, bone knit back together. The wyvern fought without its master's direct energy—feeding on something deeper, something its master had woven into its very being.
The Wind King roared. Tornadoes intensified.
But the wyvern did not fall.
Inside the cave, an oppressive aura filled every corner.
Ominous. Disgusting. The weight of something ancient and hungry pressed against Anastas's skin, squeezed his lungs, and clawed at the edges of his mind.
