The Goddess Vessel
A faint, bloody crimson haze clung to it like a vile mist.
Three figures stood before the tree. They weren't the hulking brutes I'd expected from the eastern feint. They were lean, dressed in dark robes, their hands raised as they chanted in a low, guttural language that scraped against my mind. Their eyes were rolled back in their heads, seeing nothing but the corrupting spell they were weaving.
Mages. The Crimson Sun hadn't just sent warriors; they'd sent practitioners of their twisted art.
Adrien didn't hesitate. With a snarl that was more beast than man, he launched himself at the closest mage. The man had time for a single, startled glance before Adrien's claws ripped through his chant,
Bab Populer