"Do you understand now, Ferrus Manus?"
The silver figure hovered in midair, looking down at Ferrus Manus from above. The language issuing from his mouth was no longer that string of ancient, indecipherable characters, but clear Gothic that Ferrus Manus's auditory systems could parse directly.
His voice was calm and unhurried, devoid of any emotional fluctuation, as though a teacher were explaining an elementary exercise to a schoolchild.
"The gulf between us is like that between a mayfly and a star." Zahurash's voice echoed through the vast cavern, every syllable carrying an unquestionable certainty.
"Killing you would take nothing more than a gesture."
Ferrus Manus did not respond.
He stood his ground, his knuckles whitening slightly around the Warhammer. Liquid metal flowed slowly along the contours of his arms, like a layer of serpent scales poised to strike.
His gaze remained fixed on Zahurash, neither wavering nor retreating. Only an anger suppressed to its utmost limit burned slowly in his chest.
Zahurash ignored the fury that might erupt from Ferrus Manus. He did not care about it, either.
In his eyes, Ferrus Manus was no different from an insect.
Zahurash raised one hand, his slender silver fingers tracing lightly through the air.
A dazzling light flared at his fingertips. It swiftly gathered in his palm, stretching and taking shape like metal forged by unseen hands, becoming a bladed Staff within a few breaths.
The Staff was silver-white throughout, its surface rippling with the same sheen as Zahurash's skin. A sharply faceted crystal crowned its tip, countless stars seemingly revolving within it as it radiated an ancient brilliance too imposing to look at directly.
Zahurash gently rested the Staff against empty space. The instant its base touched the air, a visible ripple spread outward from the point of contact, like a