As the screech and thunder tore through the silence, a dark cloud hung over the sky. Lightning thundered on Arcane relentlessly as she hovered in the air, taking it all with pained, low screeches.
As lightning struck Arcane, a small, barely visible white thunderbolt mark began to form just above her glabella, at the center of her forehead.
The bottom tip of the thunderbolt's symbol began filling up like a container, showing clear signs of progress. With each lightning strike, the symbol glowed white, gradually filling and moving upward.
Rex looked at Arcane, who hovered in the air, his expression worried, his fist clenched tightly.
His gaze moved toward her father—the one who made all this possible—lying on the floor like a husk. Yet faint life flickered within him. Just barely alive, the father hadn't used all of his soul—a wisp of it still remained within him.
Everything was proceeding peacefully. But they knew that this wouldn't last long.
