The pain lingered long after Taurus was gone.
Seth’s body still burned with the echo of that humiliating clash, his pride wounded far more deeply than his flesh. The dust of the alley still clung to his skin as he staggered to his feet, each breath scraping his throat raw. He replayed the moment over and over—the sheer, unrestrained dominance of the Apostle, the way his strikes had been brushed aside like meaningless gestures.
He clenched his fists until his nails dug into his palms. Weak. Too weak.
The thought gnawed at him, but even as he stumbled toward home, the healing had already begun. His demonic essence—though still shackled and incomplete in this world—stitched wounds closed, fused torn muscle, and numbed agony. By the time he collapsed onto the wooden floor of his room, the
