The dust parted like a curtain ripped open by the wind.
A clang echoed—a slow, dragging sound of metal against stone. Then a shape emerged from the haze.
At first, they hoped it wasn't what they thought it was, but eventually, their fear became a reality.
A grace knight emerged from the haze, dragging a large sword behind him slowly as he moved.
Riven could see why Amon lost now, because this wasn't any ordinary knight. It looked monstrous. Its armor shimmered like cracked glass, blackened at the edges with streaks of radiant gold pulsing erratically beneath.
Spines jutted from its pauldrons, twisted like something grown rather than forged. And behind its helm, smoke hissed with each breath—as if the thing inside it burned just to exist.
Riven stood there, unsure of what to do. His number one rule since he came here was to avoid anything that would make him use his powers, especially in front of them.
