Battered and broken, Michael Godswill sat slumped against the canyon wall, his body barely held upright by the pointed stone biting into his bruised back.
It was painful, but he had no energy left to move anymore.
There was a ragged hole torn in his tunic, exposing his bare chest, which was marred by an ugly scar and streaked with flakes of dried blood that clung stubbornly to his skin.
From the center of his sternum, an ethereal white thread seeped forth.
The thread shimmered like it was woven from strands of starlight, trickling upward into the shattered sky, toward the bleeding moon… and the dark silhouette floating against its crimson glow.
"You know what that creature is, boy?"
Michael heard a familiar voice from somewhere to his far right, but he didn't move his head to face it. He already knew who it was anyway.
The Sixth Demon Prince, Xaldreth.
