The mist of frost and residual lightning slowly frayed around Konstantine, revealing a field of ruins where the ten dragon-lions once stood.
The sorcerer remained motionless, his gray lance planted in the white marble whose golden veins now seemed to bleed solar light. Facing him, Leo, the Constellation of the Lion, was no longer smiling... His expression had turned into a predatory neutrality far more terrifying than his initial contempt.
The air around the God began to bubble, not from heat, but from the sheer density of his murderous intent that crushed the surrounding reality.
"You survived my creations, mortal..." Leo began, his voice resounding like the death knell of a dying world. "You are not completely without skills..."
Without the slightest warning, without even a perceptible impulse of mana for ordinary senses, Leo moved. A translation of reality so pure that the space between them seemed to cancel itself.
