The orc war band was still behind the walls of its settlement. Amos had expected nothing but. He looked at Valentius, who was already gathering mana from the forest.
The Archdemon doubted that the boy even realized he was doing it. The pulses were too chaotic. The grass was getting too dry too quickly.
"Let me," Amos wanted to kill. He tried to crush skulls under his boots.
He wanted to be allowed to fight at full strength, finally.
Wrath's rune was gone. The Veil Dancer was no more.
"And what am I supposed to do?" Valentius asked, already surrounded by fire demons.
Amos allowed himself a slight smirk when he saw one of the horse archers.
Good, he thought—another mage to join their ranks.
The Archdemon took out his whip. Covering it with barbs made of green steel.
Steel so poisonous that it was outlawed in the entire world. Steel that he had created.
That Wrath wanted to keep away from him.
