The Blade That Carves the Worthy
The ashes stirred.
They didn't just scatter — they pulled together, like a thousand unseen strings were stitching the corpse pile back into something whole.
Jin clutched the staff, struggling to breathe, his ribs shattered, each movement sending a jolt of agony through his chest.
The pile of corpses twisted, bones snapping into place, slowly forming a towering figure.
The flesh melted away, burned to nothing, leaving behind perfectly smooth bone. The bones stretched and hardened, forming a massive skeleton, with ashen gray armor that looked like it had been forged from war itself.
Gold light pulsed through the bone cracks, like it had a beating heart buried inside its ribs.
The skull formed last.
It had only one face.
And it was calm.
No snarl.
No fury.
Just a cold serenity — like it had already accepted the outcome of the fight before it even began.
Jin's pulse pounded.