Just as Elyndra's jagged teeth were about to close on him from above and below, Maximilian's lips parted.
"Freeze."
It was barely a whisper, yet the word landed on Elyndra like a mountain. For a single split second, her five-hundred-meter body locked in place, the mouth frozen a hair's breadth from his robe, the vines on her scales stilled mid-writhe.
One split second was all he needed.
In his hand, the obsidian sword began to change. The dull shine of its surface darkened into an abyssal black, and within that blackness, countless star-like particles flickered into existence, drifting slowly along its length. It no longer looked like a blade forged by any smith. It looked as if a piece of the cosmos itself had been carved into the shape of a sword.
