The blade swung downward.
It was neither fast nor slow. It simply was, carving through the void like a sovereign rewriting law. No wind, no friction, no resistance--just clean, unrepentant severance. The black aether dancing along its jagged edge cried out, burning brighter as it tore through the demon's upper torso.
"GRHHHHK!" it screamed, the sound bending in on itself, fragmented like a dying chorus choking on its final note. Rowan yearned for its pain--relished in it, even. And he was going to exert all his being into finishing it off.
The cut didn't stop.
It extended--not just through the demon--but through the fabric of the mindscape itself, splitting the infinite black from its unseen crown to the belly of nothingness far below. Time staggered at its edges. Space folded in protest. Cracks, like shattered porcelain, spiraled out from Rowan, their points blooming outward in jagged veins.
Beyond them… light.
Not warmth. Not peace. Not hope.
Just light--pure and blinding.
