Dorion grinned, his breath shaky.
"I'm dying here... help."
The Blood Monarch scoffed, his shadowy form shifting like a storm cloud.
"You useless filth. I granted you a power that a mere peasant like you should never have even dreamed of. And what did you do? Wasted it. Not on the target I sent you after, but on some old man."
Dorion's grin didn't fade. If he was going to die, he might as well talk his way out of it.
"He was no ordinary old man," he shot back.
The Blood Monarch leaned forward slightly, the air around Dorion growing heavier.
The weight of his presence alone made Dorion's bones groan in protest.
"And if you seriously wanted me to hunt down your precious target," Dorion continued, "then you should have given me a stronger ability. Defeating that man would take way more than just being able to come back to life twelve times."
Silence.
Then—the pressure intensified.
Dorion's vision blurred as the weight crushed down on him, making his wounds scream in agony.
