Fear painted both their faces the same deathly pale. Their eyes swept the devastation, hunting for the source of that world-shaking force.
Burning Storm, however, had already pieced together the truth. His expression softened into a smile—but not his usual radiant grin. This one carried the weight of exhaustion and something darker, like watching a storm approach from the horizon.
Dante's face twisted into a grimace at the sight.
"What is that? What have you done?"
His voice dripped accusation. His gaze snapped toward the center where massive stone corpses lay—the Behemoth that his subordinate Niasis had summoned, only to watch it vanish beneath power that defied comprehension.
The mystery gnawed at him. He couldn't identify the force, couldn't even guess at its nature, which left him reeling with confusion. And worse—infinitely worse—was that damned smile on Raizel's face.
Burning Storm's expression held secrets Dante couldn't crack, and it infuriated him.
