The one who appeared behind the White Death was a towering skeletal figure cloaked in tattered, drifting robes, radiating an aura of immense and oppressive power.
Above his skull burned a jagged crimson halo, its fractured light twisting unnaturally as if reality itself struggled to contain it. His elongated frame and crushing presence made it seem as though space bent around him, as if his very existence weighed upon the world and forced it to yield.
In one hand, he held a massive spear-like weapon shaped like a gravitational anchor, its presence so dense that the surrounding air warped and folded toward it. The weapon looked capable of pinning not just enemies—but entire worlds. Dark shadows spilled from his cloak like falling matter, as if even light could not escape his influence.
The White Death's eyes widened.
The spear flashed forward, aimed directly at his back—at his heart.
There was no time to dodge.
