Taiga, the man who had prided himself on stoic composure, finally broke. As he watched the red rain of Gale's remains coat the plaza, a high-pitched, primal scream tore from his throat.
"NO! NOOOOOOOOO, NOT ME! ANYTHING BUT ME!"
He scrambled to his feet, his boots slipping in the gore, and tried to bolt. He threw himself toward the edge of the plaza, desperate to find any gap or weakness in the invisible cage.
But every time he reached the boundary of Rex's influence, he slammed into the telekinetic force field as if hitting a wall of solid diamond. The impact sent jarring vibrations through his bones, throwing him back toward the center of the slaughterhouse.
Rex, watching the frantic, pathetic display, let out a low, mocking chuckle behind his own mask. The sound was muffled but dripping with sadistic amusement.
"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Taiga," Rex taunted, his voice smooth and condescending. "It's just physics."
