Isn't this a joke?
The thought was a desperate, repeating loop in every mind.
How can this be real? They were A-rankers, legends in their own right, individuals spoken of in whispers for their power to split mountains and slay behemoths.
Yet this young man, who looked like he hadn't seen a hard day's labor, had dismantled them with less effort than it took to swat a fly.
The more they tried to process it, the more their brains refused to comply, short-circuiting on the impossibility of it all.
No one was more violently vexed than Sebastian. Propped up on one elbow, his face a mask of congealing blood and fury, he watched the final moments of his elite team's humiliation. The sight didn't fill him with fear, but with a black, all-consuming need for revenge. This insult, this absolute annihilation of his power and prestige, demanded a price in blood that only Baelgor's could repay.
