King stood before her his hand gripping Davon's blade.
Barehanded.
Blood dripped from his palm where the sword's edge had cut into his skin, but King didn't flinch. He held the blade aloft, stopping it mere inches from Diana's head.
Davon narrowed his eyes, his muscles straining as he poured every ounce of strength into driving his sword down. Yet, the blade refused to budge, locked firmly in King's grip. The only progress it made was drawing another droplet of blood, which trickled down and splattered onto the ground.
Davon looked at him.
He knew this man, the one who shattered the barrier.
But hadn't the Demonic Beast been handling him? Turning, his gaze landed on the monstrous creature writhing in agony, an ice spear impaling its stomach and anchoring it to the earth.
"Who the hell are you?" Davon asked warily turning back toward King.