Reality folded in on itself at the point of impact.
It wasn't destruction—it was erasure.
The arrow didn't burn the hand. It unmade it.
With a flashless burst, the limb began to dissolve—not disintegrate, not shatter—just... cease to exist.
The black flames crawling across the Leviathan's flesh screamed in rejection. They flared, wildly and desperately, fighting back against the purging force. But the resistance was meaningless.
They were devoured.
Swallowed whole by the white flame, without mercy, without recognition.
And then came the scream.
It wasn't heard—it was felt.
A pressure slammed into every soul present, as if the sky itself shrieked in protest. The landscape didn't shake, they recoiled. Clouds twisted into shapes they weren't meant to take. The weight of the soundless howl cracked the atmosphere like fragile glass.
Northern's Chaos Eyes narrowed.
