The sphere of void before Max trembled in the air, so dense and heavy that even the sky seemed to bend around it, swallowing every trace of light, every loose current of mana, every drifting spark from the dragon armies and spirit women behind him.
Aurelian's golden book opened wider in the hands of the angelic avatar behind him. The pages turned faster and faster, each one burning with ancient symbols that looked as if they had been carved out of sunlight itself.
The chant coming from it grew louder, spreading through the sky in a language no one understood, yet every being who heard it felt something inside them tighten. It was not meant for mortals. It was not meant for dragons. It was something older, colder, and far more merciless, a prayer or a sentence spoken by those who believed the world existed only to obey.
