Gerald lowered his greatsword, the blade humming faintly with residual power. His deep voice rolled out like the toll of ancient war drums echoing through hollow mountain halls—laced with authority, and layered with finality.
"Stay on your knees... and I shall spare your life."
But Asher did not flinch.
His white eyes—glowing like twin stars caught in a winter storm—narrowed with cold fury. In the space of a heartbeat, he vanished.
Wind screamed as the air split open behind him, and in the next instant, he crashed into Gerald's chest with a thunderous boom, the sheer force of the impact launching the knight through a stone wall, then another, and another—until his armored form skidded to a violent halt within the sacred hall.
Stone crumbled around him as Gerald groaned and rose to one knee, muscles aching beneath dented plate. Dust clung to his frame, battered from the barrage.
