Yuan gulped, a loud, distinct swallowing sound escaping his throat as his hands clenched so hard that his knuckles turned a stark, bloodless white.
His eyes darted frantically across the edge of the ink-black curtain, his posture rigid with an instinctual, defensive dread.
"What the… hell is that?" Yuan muttered, his voice dropping into a tense, ragged whisper that barely carried across the narrow space separating him from Noah's shoulder.
As if answering his question, providing a horrific physical manifestation to match the disembodied malice echoing through the vault, the dark smoke in front of them suddenly parted.
The movement was fluid yet violent, the hyper-dense shroud of weaponized shadow mana rolling backward in thick, undulating waves like a heavy stage curtain being drawn aside by an invisible, predatory hand.
