The King of the Black Mist could not move his sword. He could not step backward. For a creature forged in the ancient, infinite void, the feeling of physical restriction was alien. The tall commander pulled with all of his monstrous, twelve-foot strength, flexing the dark muscle underneath his midnight black armor. He tried to rip his broadsword away from Luna's head. But the blade was completely locked in empty space.
"What is this?" the King demanded, his echoing voice betraying a sliver of genuine, undeniable terror.
Luna didn't answer immediately. He couldn't. His mortal brain was melting. The single drop of infinite, primordial mana he had just let slip through the First Cosmic Lock was overwhelming his nervous system, his left eye radiating a terrifying beam of pure silver starlight that scorched the dead gray ash around him.
"I told you," Luna whispered, his voice vibrating the tectonic plates deeply buried beneath the plains. "I am done playing your game."
