The colosseum, once packed with voices, was dead quiet. Millions watching through drones and screens across the city were frozen, slack-jawed, staring at the man who now hovered in mid-air like a living god. The ground beneath him had turned molten. Even the clouds above had parted.
The moment the last assassin fell, his body split clean down the middle with a single glowing arc of Liam's hand, Richard's face twisted. His smirk cracked. His breath hitched.
He staggered back, trying to keep the bravado in his voice. "I… I'm not done yet."
Liam's eyes locked on him—dead calm, glowing with that celestial light. He didn't speak. He just started walking. Each step cracked the ground beneath, burning footprints in the stone. Blood still dripped from his fingertips, sizzling when it hit the floor.
Richard raised a trembling hand, channeling everything he had left. A black spear, thick as a pillar, formed in his grip. He hurled it with a roar.
