Amos wanted it to hurt. That Wrath would tear out his red hair strand by strand.
He hit the outer gate once more. His whip, finally fed with mana, cut into the steel.
There was a swordsman among the demons he had taken over. Another was an archer. Amos had robbed them of their will.
They lived to serve him. They lived to protect him.
It was tempting to turn the entire castle into an undead army. Amos burned with the desire to watch Wrath fall, being torn by his demons.
But Amos flexed his hand, pretending that the gate was somehow connected to Wrath, and then he hit the metal again.
It split in half! He hit the bottom half again.
And again.
Until he had carved a door for himself.
The veils tied to his pants swayed in the wind.
He was shaking like a leaf.
The bastard had tested him. Back when Amos had been just a boy of eighteen and didn't know any better. Back when he had found the redheaded Archdemon handsome.
