Each movement carried weight. He stopped a few paces from her, looming like a silent verdict.
His voice, when he spoke again, was heavy with restrained fury.
"What have they done?"
The moment he said they, Gloria knew. The magicians. Her expression twisted.
Her pupils narrowed, her dainty frame trembling as a dense bloodlust radiated outward. Though it vanished in a breath, it was too late.
Every robed figure in the cathedral had already turned their eyes on her.
Even Draque'sill was no exception. His eyes gleamed, something primal sharpening their edge.
"Do you want power?"
It was a whisper soaked in temptation, like a devil making offerings in the house of God.
Gloria hesitated only for a moment before nodding.
"Yes!"
Draque'sill opened his mouth to speak again, but froze mid-syllable. His head turned slightly, nostrils flaring, eyes narrowing.
None around him understood. Then, the distant echoes of panic reached them.
