He didn't care about tearing her through the bars; he intended to obliterate her.
Because his soul rejected the ominous power he felt within the girl.
He threw his hand forward, intending to blast the cage into molten slag.
But his magic never reached the iron bars.
The moment the Trickster channeled his mana, Seraphina's head snapped up.
Her eyes were no longer dark brown. The entire sclera had turned as black as pitch, and the irises were glowing with a violent, radioactive, blinding violet light, the exact, terrifying shade of the Reaper's rage, amplified by the purity of a Supreme Core.
Her wrath had completely overridden her child's body; her soul, fueled by absolute disgust, surrendered to pure, feral instinct.
She didn't cast a spell or weave an incantation.
