Strax moved like a calamity incarnate. Each blow was a sentence. Each step was a death sentence.
Black dragons swooped down on him in droves, but it was useless. A single slash from Zani split the sky in two, and the bodies shattered before they even touched the ground. The world around Strax was no longer a world—it was an execution ground.
Explosions lit up the underground city. The buildings, once colossal and ancient, now crumbled like sandcastles under the tide of his fury.
"YOU ARE NOTHING!" he roared, cutting down seven dragons at once. The clones' entrails fell like grotesque rain. The ground was a pool of blood, but with each drop, Zani sang louder. The blade glowed with an incandescent red, pulsing, alive — bathed in the essence of dozens of profane beings.
Ignisar floated above, his expression no longer one of superiority. It was one of analysis. Like a scientist observing an experiment that had spiraled out of control.
