Soilandor, groaning, lifted his head with difficulty.
Dust cracked off his chin and forehead, exposing the glowing hieroglyphs etched into his skeletal face. Yet despite his condition—his armor in shambles, his limbs twisted at odd angles—he grinned.
"How… did you do that?" Soilandor wheezed, voice thin and ancient, like wind whispering through a crypt.
Elius wiped a streak of blood off his chin and replied with an offhand shrug, "It's a martial skill I learned inside this dimensional rift. The system assigned it to Monkaar."
Soilandor blinked. "System…? What—what are you talking about, mortal?"
Elius didn't answer that.
There was no point explaining something Soilandor could never understand.
"You'll pay for this… pay dearly…" Soilandor growled, trying to force his body to dematerialize, to retreat into the grains of sand.
But Elius stepped on his chest with enough weight to grind bones.
