The ruins still smoked, corridors scarred from the chaos of victory. Faint embers flickered, casting jagged shadows across overturned panels and twisted metal. The air smelled of ash, blood, and something far more primal: fear.
Clang… thud… a distant crash echoed down the hall.
Krain appeared, eyes wild, teeth bared. One of his lieutenants had faltered, hesitated under pressure and he made an example. A swing, a grunt, and a body crumpled. Not subtle. Brutal. Efficient in its own savage way.
Click… hiss… metal scraping against concrete.
I leaned against a scorched wall, arms crossed, watching. Predictable. Loud. Messy. Ah, the subtlety of a hammer. Lovely. His rage was a broadcast of weakness, and I cataloged every flicker of his temper, every twitch of muscle, every misstep.
Thud… distant crack…
"Control," I muttered to myself, voice low, sardonic, "isn't about strength. It's about reading the chaos." Krain had plenty of strength. He lacked the patience, the calculation. That was my edge. One day, that fury would be a lever, and I'd know exactly which way to push.
Soft hiss… echo of distant stone falling…
He roared again, lashing out at the nearest subordinate, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. I made a mental note: weak points here, predictable paths there, and a storm of emotion to exploit at the perfect moment. Krain's rage: loud, messy, entirely predictable. Just the way I like it.
Clatter… soft thump…
I stepped back into the shadows, letting him rage. Every outburst, every strike, every scream became data fuel for the next move. One man's fury, another man's roadmap. And me? I wasn't angry. I wasn't panicked. I was ready.
I allowed myself a faint, tight smirk. "Soon," I whispered, "your fire lights my path."