The wretched abomination of the sky continued its descent, twitching and spasming as if in defiance of the inevitable. Its grotesque form, spiraled slowly—agonizingly—toward the blood-colored sea below.
Each convulsion was weaker than the last, every movement a pitiful, dying echo of the malice it once carried.
Art watched from his vantage, expression unreadable. At first, a rush of satisfaction flared in his chest—ecstasy at the sight of that thing falling. But it didn't last. His eyes narrowed, and the flicker of a grin faded. 'So, I won't be the one to end this bastard…'
There was disappointment, sure. But also something else. 'No matter. At least it's being given a fitting end. Slow, cruel, and well-earned.'
