Miasma's whole body froze the moment the words hit her.
They were not normal words. They carried a raw will to kill, sharp enough to cut through the air and pin her in place.
Her breath caught in her throat. Her fingers stayed buried near Julius's eyes, but she could not move them even an inch.
"Creak!"
The tearing sound came again, louder this time, like the already ripped paper being pulled apart completely.
A dark gap opened wider in the air behind her. Then a heavy step followed, calm but full of power.
Julius, still pinned under Miasma's weight with her nails dug deep around his brows, forced his head to turn just enough.
Pain shot through his face, but he managed to get a clear look. When he did, his body went stiff.
A middle-aged man stepped out through the hole in the air. He gripped the edges of the tear with strong hands, pulling himself forward as if stepping through a doorway.
Long jet-black hair fell past his shoulders, neatly tied behind his back.
