The scorched earth was entirely silent for a fraction of a second.
Hide lay perfectly still on his back, his vision swimming as the edges of his consciousness began to fade into a cold, comforting black.
The massive, unhealed wound in his stomach was leaking dark, thick blood onto the pulverized ashes of the Flock Master. He had pushed his fragile human vessel far beyond its biological limit, fueled solely by a volatile mixture of corrupted mana and an absolute, traumatic rage.
The adrenaline that had kept him standing was completely gone, leaving nothing but the agonizing reality of a shredded torso.
But as the darkness threatened to consume him, the environment around him reacted.
The ambient, heavy mana of Estopia—which hung in the pitch-black air like an invisible, gelatinous fog—suddenly began to swirl.
