The Three Devil Apostles are Down
The atmosphere in the chamber shifted the moment Valgorth fell.
The heavy tension hanging in the air dissipated, replaced by an unsettling silence.
It felt as if the very room itself was waiting.
Two of the apostles were now dead, and even with all of their confidence, thinking they had trapped Stark inside of their domain... all of that was nothing.
Only Malthus remained now, his black robes swirling around him, shrouded in the fading light from the destruction of his allies.
Stark and his clone stood firm, battle-worn but unwavering. They could sense the overwhelming power radiating from Malthus, but neither showed any sign of backing down.
Malthus's scythe hung lazily by his side, his eyes glinting with a cruel amusement.
Slowly, his lips curled into a wicked grin as he raised the scythe high above his head.
The weapon shimmered with a dark, unnatural glow, as though it were feeding on the surrounding shadows.