Max's face twisted further, veins bulging, muscles straining. His teeth were clenched so tightly they threatened to shatter.
This isn't possible.
He could feel the power in his body. The overwhelming infernal energy. The sword burning in his grip like a second heart. His body was transformed—tattoos crawling across both arms, his face half-marked by seething lines of power.
And still… it meant nothing.
Every scream of "DIE!" was met with silence.
Every devastating blow was met with stillness.
And Mark—his smile never wavered. If anything, it grew.
Like he was enjoying it.
Like he was watching a child throw stones at a storm.
"NO!" Max growled seeing that his rage increasing even further.
As he descended further into his fury, the sword itself began to vibrate violently—feeding on his madness, growing more alive with every cry.
The markings across Max's body pulsed like a second heartbeat, glowing hotter, darker, redder.
He wasn't fighting anymore.
He was rampaging.
