The air in the courtyard was thick, not just with the metallic tang of blood and the ozone of spent magic, but with a suffocating, existential tension. The silence was a living thing, a heavy shroud draped over the hundreds of survivors who stood paralyzed, their eyes darting between the titan of gore and the broken man in the dirt.
This wasn't just a post-battle lull; it was the precise moment a world shifted its axis.
Rex stood like a monument of violent divinity, his chest heaving, his golden aura casting long, flickering shadows that seemed to dance with a life of their own. He looked down at Mordecai, and the sheer contempt in his gaze was enough to make the air feel colder.
"Are you quite finished?" Rex's voice cut through the silence like a serrated blade, dripping with a brutal, mocking venom. "Are you done leaking fluids from every orifice you possess?"
"Because quite frankly, you're making the 'Great Demon Lord' look like a goddamn puddle of melted wax."
