The golden man strode forward, its heavy footsteps echoing through the hollow city like war drums. Each step left shallow impressions in the cracked stone, the air trembling faintly from the pressure it carried.
Down below, Lancelot stirred within the crater. Dust and shattered rubble slid off his armor as he forced himself upright, the world tilting around him. Blood trickled down his cheek, the metallic taste bitter on his tongue.
He exhaled sharply, his ribs protesting the motion. "Tch… and I said twelve minutes." His lips twisted in a grim smile. "At this rate, I'll be lucky to last seven."
The shadow of the golden brute loomed over him, its radiant form radiating a silent, oppressive authority. It didn't rush. It didn't need to. It simply walked, knowing its prey had nowhere left to run.
Then—
A ripple.
Lancelot froze, his senses flaring as he felt a sudden distortion in the air above. He turned sharply toward a rooftop some distance away.
There, Leon stood.
