Samael stood before Leon like a walking calamity, his blackened fist slowly tightening around a condensed sphere of chaotic energy. The air around his hand twisted unnaturally, cracking with streaks of dark lightning as reality itself seemed unable to withstand the power compressed within his palm.
Beneath his feet, the earth rotted into ash, while the surrounding mana shrieked in disarray, corrupted simply by his presence.
Across from him, Leon stared at the Apostle of Chaos with a gaze so cold and murderous it felt capable of freezing the battlefield itself.
Veins bulged along his clenched arms while divine energy surged violently through his body, barely restrained beneath the surface.
If hatred alone could kill, Samael would have already been torn apart a thousand times over.
And in truth, Leon wanted nothing more than to rip the monster apart with his bare hands.
During his long years fighting the Demon Cult, Leon had witnessed countless atrocities.
