"You fool! You really think your pathetic little power can stand against me?"
Magnus roared in fury, his voice booming as he glared at Timothy, who looked completely unfazed, as if Magnus wasn't even worth his attention.
Ghost soldiers kept appearing, their numbers growing at an alarming, almost terrifying rate.
Their presence was overwhelming, like a force capable of leveling cities and shaking mountains, all of their fury directed at Timothy.
But Timothy, standing protectively in front of Sylvia, finally made his move.
"You're already dead, and yet you still can't rest, feeding souls to your twisted daughter.
Fine. I'll send you on your way."
As the countless ghostly figures surged toward him like a tidal wave, Timothy simply stared coldly at the sky.
A thousand feet, a hundred feet—closer and closer, the wave of ghosts was about to engulf him completely.
But then, a flicker of icy killing intent flashed in Timothy's eyes.
