Ethan took two slow steps forward and looked down at the man pinned to the ground, open ridicule curling at the corner of his mouth.
"I thought Varkharr was supposed to be impressive," he said. "Didn't expect everyone here to be this weak."
Even as he spoke, the lightning in his hand kept pressing down. Transparent arcs crawled over the man's outline, and every time one snapped, the ground split a little wider beneath him.
"From the moment I stepped in, I've already killed several of your 'generals,'" Ethan went on lightly, like he was talking about the weather. "So how about it? Why don't you gather everyone you've got and we'll have a final battle?"
The man's face drained.
The ferocity from earlier was gone—wiped clean—leaving only raw panic he couldn't hide.
More than anyone, he understood he hadn't lost to a simple head-on clash. The thing that froze his blood was the woman standing beside Ethan.
