It spoke slowly, softly, like a kindly grandfather explaining something to a child. But even as it spoke, its claws extended and retracted, muscles twitched, and the air of evil and fear grew thicker and thicker.
You see, I feed on souls. Poor fare, human souls, but necessary.
But trained souls – souls like yours – aah, so different. They… nourish… for eons.
It turned to Farmer
My Soul Farmer grows souls for my nourishment.
Farmer nodded, “Both are trained. Both are extraordinary Adepts. Their skill is greater than that of any Magi who has ever walked on this earth.”