"But you are too weak."
The Ancient Voice rumbled, not just in Leo's ears, but in the very fabric of his soul. Breaking the trance he had been.
He remembered those red eyes. He heard everything. He felt everything. In this timeless space he felt that sensation of running for an eternity.
And now this voice was calling him weak? This bastard was playing.
And he forgot about those fearful eyes peering into his soul.
"Your mother is we..."
Leo opened his mouth to argue, to tell this cosmic entity that he was Level 4 and had a very expensive sword.
But before he could even get his point through like a "civilized" person, a gust of wind hit him. It wasn't air. It was raw, condensed magical pressure, hitting him with the force of a freight train.
He was blown off his feet. A whirlwind surrounded him, lifting him off the black glass floor. He floated there, helpless, limbs pinned by the force.
Then, the darkness moved.
