Unfazed by the towering horror that now radiated death and hunger, David began to walk. His steps were measured, unhurried, as if strolling through a leisurely garden rather than a death-infused throne room.
He passed Seraphina and Vivian, who were still fiercely engaged in their relentless battles, their forms a blur of motion and raw power against the Mistress's resilient puppets.
Sparks flew, magic roared, and the sounds of impact punctuated the oppressive silence, yet David's passage was one of utter calm.
As he moved past Seraphina, who was weaving intricate patterns of lightning and flame with a strained concentration, he paused briefly. His hand, sheathed in the dark gauntlet of his Nightveil Embrace armor, gently settled on her shoulder. The touch was brief, almost imperceptible, yet it conveyed a profound sense of trust and reassurance.
