After Magat had worn the Angelic gauntlets, he was back to being himself. He eyed the old Wanderer with a doubtful look painted on his angular face. “Nonsense,” he remarked. “Anything and everything could be killed.”
Amias sighed at the war chief’s remark. “Not this demon,” he said as he spun on his heels and walked away. “Paimon is different from the rest of Hell’s dwellers. He is not an ordinary Legionnaire. He doesn’t have any physical body, thus we cannot hurt him with the weapons that we have.”
What a way to tarnish my new-found hope. “So does that mean we would be unable to defeat him? We cannot retrieve the fifth of the Angel’s gifts?” I asked him as I followed his trail. Lyana and Magat walked closely behind.
The Wanderer continued walking, grunting as the wounds on his ankle hu
