Northern stood suspended in the night sky, his gaze fixed on the colossal hand with a tense, serious expression.
Paragon Raizel had made a lot of sense—and Northern agreed. The Paragon had to fight Dante either way and he had no desire to be part of the battle.
He exhaled softly, inhaled, then exhaled again.
'Now... now... what exactly can make this hand crumble?'
A cold, subtle blue light flickered to life in Northern's eyes.
"Let's go... gently, first."
He raised one hand, narrowing his gaze at the massive limb as if locking onto a target then shut his eyes.
Every one of his talent or attribute abilities carried a spectrum of damage, determined by how much Void essence he chose to channel into them.
Northern had only wielded Soul essence briefly, before his contact with the Void. So, his understanding of the soul remained limited. But the Void—he knew that far too well. It was an amplifying force like no other.
