His black flames, his cleansing tide of pure madra, and his Dreadgod arm all harmonized with his will of destruction. The Void Icon sang, closer than ever.

While the Abidan read the Way and bowed to the current patterns of Fate, Daruman wrestled destiny and bent it to his own will. He created the future he wanted and projected it in front of himself, and he saw it spin out.

Blood and destruction madra erupted from the axe, forming into a wave of red, spectral hands. Thousands of spindly arms stretched out from the blade, reaching for Kiro. His Striker techniques punched through the cloud of madra, destroying a few hands, but there were many more to replace them. His attacks were swallowed up as though they had landed

A tide that Yerin was sure she’d soon join. Her Blood Shadow, the parasite that had infested her as a girl, was struggling to take over. To heed the song of the Phoenix and break free. It was taking all of her mind and spirit, all of her willpower, to restrain it. Lindon leaned over her, his face soft with concern. He told her to fight. Told her he