Chapter 692: Five minutes
General Tiberius’ eyes widened in shock as he looked down at the gaping wound in his chest. The monstrous claw hadn’t pierced his heart, but it had gouged deep into his right lung, practically incinerating the organ.
His breathing became ragged, each inhale a struggle, as a suffocating sensation wrapped around him like an iron vice. Pain surged through his chest with every beat of his heart, but still, he stood.
Above him, the Legendary Voroe flashed a broad, sinister grin, fangs glistening with malice. There was a thrill in his eyes, a twisted ecstasy as he admired the damage he had done. He had wounded the human legend—possibly fatally.
"Two down," he murmured, his voice laced with fanatic glee.
This was a moment of triumph. He, the Legendary Voroe, had killed the first of the human Legends. And now, another was falling!
But then, something changed.
The fire in General Tiberius’ eyes reignited. Through the haze of pain and the blur of blood, he focused—not on the injury, not on the death creeping in—but on his enemy. With one final surge of desperate strength, he reached out and seized the Voroe’s throat in a vice-like grip.
The Legendary Voroe froze, utterly stunned.
The human’s hand crushed his windpipe with inhuman strength, stopping his breath and sending a jolt of fear through his monstrous form. For the first time in centuries, he felt dread—not from a divine force, not from one of his own kind, but from a dying man.
Tiberius’ face twisted into a bloodied snarl, his eyes burning with wrath. There was no fear, no despair—only an unrelenting, monstrous will to destroy.
"Enjoy the flames!" he roared, his voice full of blood and fury.