Emperor Zolthemir Lux Vanthelmor felt his body tear backwards with a ridiculous, bone-rattling impact, but before he could cross any meaningful distance, he regained control over his body with swift, practiced ease, his feet slamming violently into the earth as he skidded backwards to a forceful stop, carving deep trenches into the ground beneath him.
His eyes snapped forward to the position where Azaron was, his gaze sharpening, his eyes flashing with a trace of shock as he hadn't been able to follow the knee attack to his chest, hence he hadn't been able to absorb the energy behind it.
Azaron didn't rush forward; he walked with calm, unhurried ease, each step deliberate, the air around him trembling in fear as though the atmosphere itself was about to be ripped apart, warped and distorted simply by his presence, as though reality itself recoiled at his existence.
