The words were carrying as much authority as he could muster, and for a brief moment, there was silence.
Then, figure chuckled.
The sound was low and distorted, echoing unnaturally as the smoke that formed its body twisted slowly.
"Sorry," it said. "I can't."
The tone carried no fear, or even hesitation even though he was meant to be standing in front of someone at peak of magic in this age.
"I am a messenger of death."
The words felt heavy as they settled in the air.
"And unfortunately for you, the message of death has been passed the moment you revealed yourself."
As it spoke, the smoke around its body began to shift more violently.
Then—
From within that mass of darkness, two shapes formed.
A pair of black daggers, made entirely of the same dense smoke.
They solidified within its grasp, their edges flickering as though they existed between form and formlessness.
The figure's presence grew heavier.
Its voice deepened, becoming even more distorted than before.
