The battle was decided.
The fate of the winner—and that of the loser—had been sealed from the very moment the fight began.
No matter the effort, the struggle, the desperation, one of the two—a contender for this vast and delicious soul—was bound for defeat.
The result was inevitable.
…
And what was that result?
A grin split Northern's bloodied lips, jagged teeth stained with crimson, his expression twisted in ugly satisfaction.
His body swayed, staggering backward, yet his voice drifted forward, carried by the hollow winds of the Void Palace.
"What are you doing? Who have you been dancing with all this time?"
A simple question.
But something was wrong.
The voice did not originate from the crumbling Northern.
The Shadow Enthrall's seven necks shifted slightly, dismissing the sudden chill that laced the air. Yet, something gnawed at its senses, a crawling unease.
Slowly—it turned.