“This pitiful creature dared to call itself the King of this frozen wasteland,” the Reaver muttered, his voice dripping with disgust as he gazed at the severed head in his hand. The so-called gatekeeper’s expression was frozen in defiance, even in death.

  He scoffed, tossing the head aside with disdain. It had tried to freeze him, over and over again, repeating the same pathetic attacks. Each attempt was met with the Reaver’s effortless counter, each strike more futile than the last. “Pathetic,” he spat. “Hardly worth the hunt.”

  Yet despite its frailty, the creature had met death with defiance. Even in its final moments, the beast resisted, its last expression locked in silent rebellion. A wasted effort.

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  But as much as the creature’s lack of fear annoyed him, it was the boredom that gnawed at him most. The fight had been monotonous, its tactics predictable, its demise inevitable. He had wanted a real challenge, something to test his growing power.

  As if answering his unspoken demand, a portal ignited before him, stark and oppressive, a searing contrast to the icy wasteland behind him. Waves of heat shimmered through the air, the scent of molten rock choking out the last traces of frost.

  A slow grin spread across his face. “Hopefully this area will be a little more entertaining,” the Reaver mused, his eyes gleaming with dark anticipation. His blood sang for a worthy hunt, something that would reignite the thrill he so desperately craved.