Something bled into his body—through the ground, into his lungs.
It felt repulsive, vile and wrong.
His soul intuitively rejected it.
He felt his Ascendant Armor thrum, a low vibration rising in defiance, a warning, a defense.
There was a blackness in the air. Faint, but insidious. He could feel it—spreading into him, tainting his blood, his flesh... his soul.
The sensation slithered through him like venom, coiling and twisting, threatening to reshape him into something monstrous. But the soul core within his armor pulsed—cleansing, resisting, burning away the corruption from within.
"Corruption..."
Valarie's voice came from his chest—thin, strained. A single upper lip still stuck to his bleeding frame.
She sounded as if she'd torn herself in twain just to stay tethered to him.
Damon, however, only cradled his head and smiled maniacally, wide eyes locked on the hellscape surrounding them.
