"This is worse than I thought," Azrael muttered to himself
Closing his eyes, he reached inward, seeking the familiar surge of mana that once coursed through his being. But there was nothing. No flicker of magic, no comforting hum of energy.
"Should've created the mana core when I had the chance," he chastised himself silently, regret tainting his thoughts.
But dwelling on past mistakes wouldn't change his current situation.
Though he was sure he wasn't going to die here, in the hands of cult mobs.
"I can prove it! I can prove my innocence!" Azrael's voice echoed through the crowd. The villagers stopped chanting, their attention turning to him.
"What do you have to prove, then, Witch?" the fat lady asked, her smile unnervingly wide.
Azrael clenched his teeth. "My bag. There are things that can help me prove my innocence."
"Liar!" the villagers shouted in response.