Alexandro watched as the Zanis Patriarch fled toward the void. Whatever sliver of respect the White Death once held for that man disintegrated then and there.
Pompeyo Zanis — once a warrior revered across empires, a symbol of unyielding power and ambition — had become nothing more than a coward and a traitor. The man who had once ruled entire systems now fled like a cornered beast, unwilling to face the weight of his own crimes.
Alexandro exhaled slowly, his breath cutting through the silence that followed the chaos of war. His expression hardened. There was no mercy in his heart. Without a word, without even a ripple of hesitation, he launched himself forward.
Space and time folded before his advance. The air shattered like glass as the White Death crossed thousands of kilometers in the blink of an eye. When reality realigned, he was there — standing before Pompeyo, whose eyes widened with a terror that no crown, no power, could hide.
"Mercy... I will—"
