The Demon gritted his teeth, his body trembling as he fought against the crushing force bearing down on him—not just from Riven's blows, but from something far worse.
The air thickened, charged with an unseen power that pressed down like the weight of a collapsing sky. It coiled around him, suffocating, inescapable. Each breath felt like dragging air through stone, his limbs sluggish, his thoughts drowning in a slow, creeping haze.
A sharp, primal dread curled through his spine.
He willed his body to move, to rise, to resist—but it would not obey.
The weight was too much. The presence was too vast.
The crowd saw none of this.
To them, the Demon was simply dazed from the fight, struggling to his feet. They did not feel what he did — They did not feel Him.
Riven stood above him, his abyssal fire writhing beneath his skin, just barely contained. It flickered at the edges of his aura, unseen by mortal eyes but suffocating to those who could sense power—true, unrelenting power.
