"Damn it! That bastard Timothy!"
Holy Emperor Featherwind stood amidst the ruins, his rage boiling over as he surveyed the destruction. The air around him crackled with murderous intent.
The entire floating fortress had been obliterated. The Dragon Blood Formation had self-destructed, and only a few survivors remained, all gravely injured.
Kneeling on the ground, they begged desperately, "Holy Emperor Featherwind, it wasn't our fault! He wasn't supposed to be anywhere near Skyfeather Sanctuary. No one could've known Timothy would have the Seraphic Six-Wing Mantle!"
"Useless!"
Holy Emperor Featherwind's eyes burned with fury, and with a single stomp, blood-red cracks spread across the ground.
The survivors, barely clinging to life, watched in horror as the crimson lines crept toward them. Fear gripped their hearts as they pleaded, "Holy Emperor Featherwind, please don't kill us! Even though the fortress is destroyed, we can still serve you. We can still be of use…"
Splat.
