When Arlon drew his sword, the shift in the air was immediate.
Reeb's eyes narrowed.
It wasn't the movement that surprised him—it was the sword itself.
He recognized the aura almost instantly. The twisted pressure, the silent pulse of emptiness that surrounded it like a second atmosphere.
This wasn't a weapon that belonged to the physical world.
No.
This was something else entirely.
A piece of the void.
A sword imbued with the essence of the Voidbound Tyrants.
Reeb's lips parted slightly—not in fear, but in dawning comprehension.
He knew that all of the Voidbound Tyrants ascended at one point in their lives.
Their race had a serious advantage. Their entire species was designed to climb past the limitations of form.
But Arlon had a sword that had their aura.
He knew at that moment that he would lose, but it didn't matter.
This was only a fragment of his soul. Even if it died, Reeb's main body would recover.
