The king stared, his hollow sockets locked on Daemon.
There was a pause — the way Daemon had spoken, it wasn't casual. It was as if he knew Michael.
The king's voice sharpened.
"You speak of Michael... as if you've met him."
Daemon didn't answer. His expression stayed flat, his mind already working faster than his tongue.
There was no point explaining — the king didn't deserve to know the truth. That sword lying in the distance was the only thing that mattered now.
His hands clenched.
"Inverse Divinity."
A faint red glow pulsed from beneath his skin, sealing the worst of his wounds. His breathing steadied, but his body was barely hanging on. One wrong move, and the next swing would split him in two.
It was a gamble. But Daemon had always bet high when the odds were against him.
The king raised his sword once more, voice low with growing suspicion.
"Trying another trick, boy? You think I haven't seen through your games?"
