Grand Preceptor Yan dropped the broken marble steps like a creature possessed by grave-rot.
The desperate, uneven spasms of the Demonic Sage’s organ-graft propelled his starved limbs forward with unnatural, jerking speed.
In his ink-stained, claw-like hands, he gripped the fourteen-inch stone-hard bone brush. He drove it forward like a poisoned cavalry spear.
The matted gray bristles, soaked in pure demonic essence, had stiffened into a bundle of glistening, needle-sharp quills.
A sickly, violet corpse-light clung to the blackened bone shaft. That left trails of freezing rotting fog in the air behind the thrust.
This was no ordinary physical strike.
The Quill of the Demonic Sage carried the First Epoch’s Taboo of Soul-Flaying Damnation.
In the ancient records of the royal archives, it was written that if the bristles of this brush punctured even a single drop of mortal blood, the victim’s soul-marrow would be pulled out through the quill.
