'Kill!'
The word wasn't a thought anymore.
It was a command.
A need.
A law etched into Max's bones.
His body shook—not from fear, but from sheer rage.
The kind of rage that blurred vision. That shattered reason. That screamed for violence and blood.
And then—
The sword beside him moved.
The red sword.
It trembled faintly against the stone floor, as if waking from slumber. The ground beneath it cracked, unable to contain the raw energy pulsing through the weapon.
Then it rose.
Slowly.
Gracefully.
Until it hovered before Max—pointed directly at him, humming with bloodlust. Like a predator sensing its equal.
It wanted him.
And Max?
He didn't hesitate.
Not for a single breath.
His hand lashed out, gripping the hilt tightly.
The moment his fingers closed around it, the sword came alive.
WAAANNG!
A violent, blood-red beam of light erupted from its edge, splitting the air with a screeching howl. Max didn't wait.
He swung.
Hard.
