The storm above twisted and churned like a living beast, its deep gray clouds pulsing with streaks of violent, golden lightning. The god's voice still echoed in the air, a force so overwhelming that the very ground trembled beneath Azrael's feet.
"QUINN! YOU DARE DEFY ME?"
Azrael ran. His heart pounded like a war drum, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he sprinted through the burning village. Around him, chaos reigned—men screamed, creatures howled, and the wind carried the scent of blood and fire.
His mind raced.
Who the hell was that? Why was Quinn scared?
Quinn, his trusted sword, his most powerful ally—was afraid.
And if Quinn was afraid, then Azrael had every reason to be terrified.
He pushed forward, weaving through the destruction, dodging debris and fallen bodies. Behind
