The air was thick with the stench of scorched earth and betrayal, the battlefield a canvas of shattered bone and fairy core dust that glittered like a cruel jest.
Atlas Von Roxweld's instincts screamed, his Truth Eyes catching the blur of a figure plummeting from the sky. A Prime. Not just any Prime—her mana was a furnace, her presence a blade pressed to the world's throat.
He smiled, a jagged thing, sharp enough to cut glass. "Both of you, back away," he growled, his voice low, steady, a predator's warning.
Claire and the healer obeyed, their steps retreating into the shadows of the crater where Number Nine's corpse had laced, a mangled testament to Atlas's fury. Claire gave him one last glance, lips taut with unspoken curses, while the healer knelt in silence, her eyes half-lidded, as if praying. Atlas remained still.
The ground trembled.
A low hum of mana pulsed like a second heartbeat.
Shhhhh... DOOOOM!
