Kael didn't give Lanling time to regain his composure. His grin remained plastered across his face, wide-eyed and unblinking as he locked onto Lanling's gaze. His flesh regenerated at a visible rate, black mist seeping from his wounds as if guiding the process.
"Careful. This body took me eight hundred years to obtain," he chuckled, his tone laced with venom. "The lycanthropes of that era were nothing short of stubborn."
He turned around, eager to revel in his achievement. "But mortals will be mortals. In exchange for immortality, they give up the very reason they continue to live!"
His head jerked back in a fit of laughter, the sound dripping with mockery. By the time his cackling ceased, his body had completely healed—even his burnt clothes had reverted to their original state.
A cruel grin lingered on his face as he prepared to resume his execution, but just then, a brilliant white light—shaped like a sword—came rushing out from the castle, streaking straight toward him.
