The group watched in paralyzed horror as Patrick's remains—only blood—splattered onto the stone floor. Patrick, the wise patriarch of the Dragon Nation, a genuine powerhouse, had been extinguished without a struggle. The casual, ultimate violence was a psychological weapon that left them utterly shattered.
"He was noisy." Lilith stated, her tone bored, as if dismissing a buzzing insect. She turned her cool, predatory gaze to the kneeling group.
"Okay... Let's play another game."
With a thought, Casey was seized by an invisible force, rising into the air and floating forward, hovering just beneath the residual, blood of Patrick.
Casey was inwardly horrified—the sight, the scent, the terror of immediate death—but her face remained an absolute mask of indifference. Not a tremor, not a hint of fear escaped her controlled expression. It was a practiced, desperate survival technique mastered during her years of training.
