His coat sleeve had been cut.
A thin line of blood ran down his forearm.
It wasn't a serious wound.
But it was proof.
The Reaper could harm him.
The audience's breath caught.
Raphael's eyes narrowed, and something unreadable flickered in his expression.
Aurelius looked down at the blood, then back at the Reaper, and his voice was calm, but it carried something heavier than before.
"Good," he said quietly. "Now I can stop pretending this is a lesson."
The Reaper didn't answer.
It raised its hand again, and the remaining undead shifted formation, circling Aurelius like wolves around a lion. Some launched soul skills immediately, spears of cursed flame and black lightning ripping through the air, while others reinforced their bodies with dark armor, their spirit cores glowing brighter.
Aurelius moved through them like a storm given flesh, his fists breaking skulls, his palms shattering ribs, his simple energy bursts erasing attacks mid-flight.
