Silence.
He closed his eyes, feeling the familiar ache in his wrist, the phantom pain of a thousand deadlines. Then, the world dissolved into sepia-toned exhaustion.
“The Demon Fist of the Void…” whispered a young squire, crossing himself. “The prophecies said he would descend in a pillar of light.”
And now, in a world where imagination shaped reality, those techniques were real .
A petty warlord? That was nothing.