The air hung heavy with tension, the ground still trembling faintly from the impact of my crash. I lay sprawled in a crater of shattered concrete, my black coat dusted with rubble, its purple seams glinting faintly in the moonlight.
Above me, Alaric stood straight, his red aura burning like a smoldering fire, his alien-like features—sharp cheekbones, faintly glowing skin—etched with a cold, triumphant smirk. His red eyes glared down at my body, his boots crunching on the broken concrete as he loomed over the crater's edge.
The crowd on the beach below, their cheers silenced, gasped in unison, their faces pale as they stared up at the scene. Whispers rippled through them, a wave of fear and uncertainty replacing their earlier excitement. A woman in a sundress clutched her friend's arm, her voice trembling. "Oh no! Zero's down!" she said, her eyes wide with panic. "He's not moving!"
