Sylen's heart slammed against his ribs.
Not from fear, but from the cold, sick realization that the fight would've ended the moment it began.
Alex's blade was inches from his neck.
He'd been frozen, locked in place by Alex's movement suppression skill, but his summon had saved him at the last second.
Noctherion.
Sylen's eyes flicked to the shadows writhing around him—to the empty space where six of his shadow knights used to be.
And in their place…
The ancient deity stirred.
A faint tremor pulsed through the arena floor as thick black mist began to coil upward from beneath Sylen's feet, drawn from the void.
He had been so focused on how to counter the skills Alex had used against Tharnok that he'd left himself wide open to the only moment that truly mattered.
The present.
And now, only one thing had saved him:
His ace.
An ancient, fallen deity, gifted to him by Nuxaris.
Noctherion.
A being so old, its name had been lost to time.
