Theron exhaled a heavy breath, his lungs screaming, his Meridians being singed with a heat he couldn't even begin to describe. He had used up too much Mana—so much that even a low-tier Gold Mancer would be on the ground panting right now.
Chopra was weak. So weak that Theron almost felt disgusted. It was only made worse by the fact his philosophy on battle was so completely infuriating.
He viewed battle much the same way one would expect any privileged bastard to view it. He had never had to fight for survival, never had to think of what his loss would mean for his family or the Clan that stood behind him, never had to consider anything but his own pleasure.
Chopra wasn't the culprit behind what had happened to his family. Theron knew that better than anyone else. But he was a symptom of the same disease. No, maybe he was the disease in and of itself.
