Infernal fire erupted from Liam's hand—not a stream, not a sphere, but a wave of concentrated destruction amplified beyond anything he'd produced before.
The flames roared across the courtyard with heat that made stone crack and metal run like water.
Orin's eyes widened fractionally.
Then he moved.
The Grand Commander didn't try to block. Didn't try to deflect.
He just moved, and his speed finally showed what he'd been holding back.
He crossed fifteen feet in a blink, cleared the flame-wave by inches, and his greatsword was already descending toward Liam's position—
[Sovereign's Presence] - Active
The demonic aura hit like a physical wave. Worse than fear. Worse than intimidation. Pure presence. The weight of something ancient and terrible declaring its existence to the world.
Orin's strike faltered. Not much. Just a fraction of a second hesitation as his divine training warred with the primal recognition that something wrong was in front of him.
A fraction was enough.
