“Sloppy,” said a cold voice from nearby. It was familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, like a slightly distorted imitation of a voice he knew well. A black-and-gray Ozmanthus Arelius stood next to Lindon, broom braced on his shoulder. His features were sharp and his demeanor haughty, but his clothes were still finely pressed. He sneered up at the descending technique. “Dismantling should be clean. Like so.” Ozmanthus swept his broom through the sky, and the space-ripping golden sphere disappeared. So did the rain of orange-red blades, and the Silent King’s halo, and the indistinct Void Icon
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