Every ripple of power from the throne room bled into the sky, turning the heavens crimson and the ground beneath into molten veins of light. Mountains shifted. Oceans groaned. The devils at the gates roared louder, feeding on the chaotic surge that poured into them through Aamon's awakening.
And deep within the palace—Zero stood in the center of it all, his body trembling as he forced the two opposing manas inside him to stabilize the world that was trying to collapse around them.
The air burned. The floor cracked and rippled with black energy. Every time Aamon moved, reality screamed.
Zero had no strength left to waste. Each step forward cost him more than the last. Every breath came jagged, his lungs drawing in air that shimmered like fractured glass.
Aamon watched him with quiet fascination, his massive wings spread wide, their shadows stretching across the broken floor. "You're still resisting," he said softly, the tone almost admiring. "Even knowing you cannot win."
