Mortis raised his hand to gently caress the wound on the side of his neck, the sting from his fingertips making him secretly grit his teeth.
Wisps of black mist entwined around the edges of the wound, constantly hindering its self-healing.
"Werewolf..." he muttered to himself, with suppressed anger in his voice.
Scarlet energy quickly flowed from his fingertips, forming a delicate blood armor over the wound, concealing the hideous claw marks.
Mortis didn't give the Sword Saint a second chance to get up. He raised his hand and pressed the air, and countless Blood Crystal Spears descended.
After doing this, Mortis turned to Visarius, his tone so calm it revealed no trace of emotion: "I'll leave the finishing touches to you."
Visarius bowed deeply: "As you command, Your Majesty."
Although Mortis remained composed, as he merged his form into the blood curtain, the surging blood-red sky retreated into the distance at a frightening speed, faster than when it came.
