The chamber descended into a heavy, suffocating stillness, broken only by the distant, rhythmic roar of the purge echoing from the city below. Rex stood motionless in the center of the wreckage, the single drop of blood on his fingertip a vivid, crimson stain against the cold metal of his mask.
The displaced jawplate of his helm sat slightly askew, a jagged testament to the violence he had just endured, but his posture remained unnervingly stable. He wasn't just standing; he was calculating.
The data from the exchange was already being integrated. Cassandra and Gorvasha had achieved the impossible: they had produced temporal ambiguity within his foresight.
They hadn't just countered his speed or matched his raw power; they had struck at the very foundation of his predictive framework. They had introduced a variable that made his foresight flicker like a dying candle.
