The Catastrophe [Pt 3]

"H-how…?"

Shock riveted Oswald as he stared at the man standing in front of him, the smoke clearing to reveal burn marks etched into his skin.

For a moment, he allowed himself the hope that he had won, that his lightning had at least heavily injured the enemy.

But the hope was fleeting, shattering like fragile glass as the marks began to disappear, vanishing right before his eyes.

"No...," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the crackling remnants of his spell. "What are you...?"

Was this person even human?!

Before he could react, the man was upon him, closing the distance with a speed that made his heart hammer in his chest.

His hands were like vices, gripping onto Oswald's aged face, and the Mage could feel something akin to a vacuum sucking away at his energy, draining him.

'T-this is…!' He tried to move, tried to fight back, but his body refused to respond, frozen in the grip of the man's relentless hold.