Leonidas did not understand a word of Rex's taunts. The complex terminology of forbidden gods and divine marks meant nothing to the man who was currently drowning in his own blood.
What he knew was primal. He knew that a furnace had been ignited behind his ribs, consuming his fear, his exhaustion, and his grief, converting them into something far more volatile.
Pain was no longer a warning signal; it was fuel. His rage had suddenly acquired a physical geometry—an edge that could cut through reality and a weight that pulled at his very soul.
His smoldering crimson eyes dropped to his own hands, which were shaking, not from weakness, but from the sheer pressure of the power coursing through them. For one heartbeat, a flicker of human confusion crossed his transformed features.
"What did you do to me?" Leonidas demanded, his voice hoarse, sounding like grinding tectonic plates. "What is this... this poison in my veins?"
