The Crimson Exarch stepped into the shattered chamber with a calm that felt almost mocking. The faint glow of the crystal walls danced over his white hair and crimson eyes, and that radiant smile — effortless, composed — never left his face.
He glanced at Meylin, and after seeing that the woman had no lethal wounds, he turned toward the looming figure of Black Mask.
"We really need to stop meeting like this," the Crimson Exarch said lightly. "That is how rumors start."
Black Mask's face twitched beneath the obsidian covering. His fury pulsed like a heartbeat in the air. This man had been the reason for his humiliation half a year ago, when the Scarlet King had nearly ended him. And now, here he was again, ruining everything, blasting apart one of his limbs just to save an enemy.
And he was smiling about it.
For a moment, Black Mask wondered if this was a cruel dream, some illusion meant to mock him. But the heat of his rage burned away the thought. Hatred brought focus.
