A chorus of ghostly wails erupted from the crimson silk before Deacon Vane could close his mouth.
Sovereign Vael threw his head back and laughed, a harsh, metallic bray that echoed off the jagged crags of Moon Seven. His golden visor snapped shut, sealing his sneering face behind plates of polished sun-gold.
“Surrender?” Vael bellowed, his voice dripping with venomous mockery. “You think three eight-hundred-year-old siege spirits will surrender to a wandering beggar?”
The Sovereign channeled his Sovereign Dao Peak cultivation directly into the three bone rods.
Thick streams of black-red vitality surged down his forearms. The jagged soul-gems atop each rod pulsed like freshly cut hearts, spraying droplets of burning blood across the obsidian bridge.
“Tear him to shreds!” Vael roared, pointing his smoking gauntlet at Kaelen’s chest. “Flay the skin from his bones! Drink his marrow until only his hair remains!”
The three war-banners shuddered violently.
Dark crimson silk billowed in the void gale, vomiting three towering phantoms of condensed soul-smoke.
