For a moment, the world was silent.
The monstrous hurricane of wind that Target Locker had summoned slowly began to dissipate, the howling gales weakening into a ghostly whistle, then into nothing.
Dust and shattered debris floated in the aftermath, and through the fog of destruction, the white humanoid tiger's golden eyes searched desperately.
And then — he saw it.
There was nothing.
No silhouette.
No boy.
No swords.
No trace of the damn brat with his flying swords.
Immediately, a cruel, victorious grin slowly split the white tiger's bloodied face.
He bared his sharp fangs in savage delight and threw his head back, laughing hoarsely, his muscular chest heaving with exhilaration.
"HAHAHAHA! Finally! Finally, that damn brat... GONE!" he roared, slamming his clawed fist into the cracked ground with a thunderous BOOM.
He stomped around the ruined arena, shards of concrete crunching under his feet.
