The air vibrated.
Every particle, every atom, seemed to pulse with the power emanating from Strax.
The ground still trembled with the echo of the dragon's presence.
And yet, the Beast Sovereign did not flinch.
He took a deep breath, his chest expanding, his muscles tensing to their limit.
A low roar escaped his throat—not of fear, but of pure rage.
His sharp fangs gleamed in the distorted red light emanating from Strax's aura.
He took a step forward.
The weight of the demonic pressure caused the stones beneath his feet to sink and crack, but he did not bow.
"Bow?" the Sovereign repeated, his voice hoarse and slurred. "The only time I have knelt… was to tear off a god's head and drink his blood."
Strax stared at him silently.
His gaze was impassive. Almost… curious.
The dragon behind him tilted its head, and a crimson flame escaped from its ethereal nostrils, dissolving into the air with the sound of boiling metal.
That flame didn't burn matter—it burned soul.
