Michael stood in a terrible state.
The lion, however, was in an even worse state. Its golden mane had dulled. Its chest heaved with effort, molten blood spilling from deep fissures that split through its ribs and across its jaw. Cracks ran along its radiant hide where Michael's fists had landed again and again, leaving blackened scars. Its once-proud roar was broken, ragged, closer to a cough than the voice of a king of beasts.
And beneath that pain was disbelief.
When it had fought alongside the serpent, when their Laws struck Michael from both sides, the lion had believed the "fruit" was only barely managing to survive through sheer stubbornness. But now, stripped of the serpent's cover, forced into a one-on-one clash, the truth had become painfully clear.
Alone, Michael was a monster.
The lion's mind struggled to grasp it. This human, this fruit, should not have been able to match them. His lifeforce, though robust, still told he was young.
