"Almost all of you, are pathetically weak."
Azmakul spoke with a condescending tone, he approached them, taking one small step at a time. But they perceived it differently. Each step of his felt like an earthquake. There wasn't any, but the mental pressure was intense.
Even though he seemed different from before, he was easily recognizable by his odd mask, Whether it was his real face, or the skull of an enemy he had slain before, no one knew.
All they knew, was it sent shivers down their spine. It made their chests heavy, and breathing, already a task difficult in the savage planet of Lanekia, was made even laborious.
He was finally in front of Emma, who wanted to cower but couldn't. The pressure he released made her want to kneel, but his oppressive mana kept her in place.
"A pure blooded royal of the Nine-tailed fox clan, yet your healing ability is subpar."