The flat, present, God-complex, matter-of-fact delivery.
He looked at the men.
"You watched my devotee receive what I gave her."
He paused.
"You saw what you were not permitted to see."
The crowd.
The specific, going-quiet, what-does-that-mean, receiving-a-sentence crowd sound of two hundred people hearing a declaration.
He looked at them.
He was still inside her.
She was still arcing.
Still running.
Still at the full, warm, mortal-woman, foundational-event, everything-available output.
He looked at the men.
The Herb Integration passive.
He ran it.
Not the broadcast — the specific, targeted, cultivator-precise, selected-recipients deployment of the passive at the specific, full, overwhelming, everything-at-once output level that the system could produce when he ran it at full output.
Not at her.
At them.
At every man in the square.
