The hotel room was quiet.
After everything he had endured—the chaos at the Golden Colosseum, the life-threatening battles, and the countless complications that had nearly cost him his life—Arthur could finally take a moment to himself.
He sat on the edge of his bed, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees.
A reinforced glass case lay across his lap.
Inside it rested the severed arm of Ariala, the Demon Lord of Sloth.
Arthur tilted the case toward the light, examining the limb with keen interest. Thin lines of sealing runes shimmered across the glass, forming a protective barrier around its contents. Beneath them, dark demonic energy clung to the severed flesh, shifting so slowly that he might have mistaken it for a shadow had he not known what he was looking at.
Even separated from its owner, the arm radiated an oppressive presence.
Arthur studied it with unmistakable satisfaction.
'A Demon Lord's arm.'
His fingers brushed the edge of the case.
