For an instant, time seemed to stand still.
The Old Lich's shattered skull, the bone bowl falling to the floor, the bright red liquid suspended in midair, the wizard's beaming face revealed beneath a thrown-back hood, the glowing spellbook, the rumble of thunder—and most of all, the gazes Sir Ulrich and Captain Mist turned toward the room's entrance together.
Two great demons, four eyes. Their gazes weighed on the room like mountains, plunging it into dead silence.
The attackers who had appeared so suddenly were like insects trapped in amber, struggling slowly against the great demons' oppressive auras. Everything around them lost its color in that instant, leaving only black and white. Nikita felt as though she were watching a silent film played in slow motion. Everything was soundless, comical, and faintly absurd.
It was like a dream.
No. Even a dream wouldn't be this awful.
The young demoness could never have imagined that wizards would launch a surprise attack here, in the Withered Land, where liches gathered in greater numbers than anywhere else.
Of course, she wasn't the only one who thought things had gone badly.
The hunting team that had burst onto the Mage Tower's second floor had also realized that events weren't going quite as expected.
Ding!
A silver bead the size of a peanut slipped from the witch's palm. Though it landed on the soft carpet, it rang as sharply as if it had struck a glass bowl. At the sound, a dazzling silver halo flashed out, breaking the two great demons' fields of control.
The wizards could move again.
Black and white receded, and color returned to everything in the room.
The scene sprang back to life.
"Damn it!"
The burly wizard tore off his cloak and tossed it to the floor along with the