GrandLord Dreath did not take his eyes off the advancing storm of red.
Their steps were no longer clumsy.
Their movements were no longer wild.
There was still rage in them, still that deep burning fury that drove them forward without pause, but now it moved with direction, with purpose, with a terrifying clarity that had not been there before. Every inch they closed felt heavier than the last, every step echoing with a weight that did not belong to beings at their level.
And Dreath—
For the first time in a very long time—
Did not know how to immediately answer it.
His gaze flickered.
Not to the ground.
Not to the sky.
But to the side.
To Elder Achilor.
His hand snapped up, pointing.
"You. Go."
The command came sharp.
Not a suggestion.
Not a request.
An order.
Elder Achilor froze.
For a brief moment, everything inside him resisted.
Not his body.
Not his blood.
But his thoughts.
"…Me…?"
Inside, the disbelief surged.
You are the one who provoked them.
