Gordon, panting and struggling to remain upright, suddenly became aware of the crushing weight that filled the air. It wasn't just heat—it was pressure, suffocating and oppressive, as if the very atmosphere were collapsing in on him.
Liam's violet eyes blazed brighter, and faint runes shimmered to life along his arms like ancient scripture reawakened.
"I've dwelled in this boy's consciousness long enough to understand how feeble your kind truly is," the entity within Liam spoke, its voice layered and resonant, ancient beyond measure. "You claw for power without reverence. You dare tamper with fate, blind to the cost."
He raised one hand, palm outstretched toward Gordon.
Mystica's eyes went wide. "No… that sigil… that isn't Liam's magic."
A sphere of compressed myst formed at Liam's palm—dense, volatile. Violet and gold lightning spiraled around it like serpents coiling for a final strike. Its very presence threatened to tear the dungeon apart.
