The world was already screaming.
But the next clash—this one would decide which law remained.
Leon's fractures spread like glass struck from every angle. Each outcome splintered, cascaded, tore reality into threads of possibilities. His vision blurred—every heartbeat was a thousand, every breath was a legion of echoes trying to exist at once. His very bones howled under the strain of Fracture Requiem.
He knew it couldn't hold.
Not like this. Not for long.
And Kaelith… Kaelith was not a man anymore. He was his Throne.
The banners lashed overhead like storms, the obsidian seat towered until even the sky of the arena looked like it had been conquered, pulled into service. The Sovereign Warlord stood unshaken, unbowed. His decree had not faltered.
"Flamebreaker." His voice was thunder folded into steel. "You are powerful—but no Throne bends. It commands."
And then Kaelith raised his hand. Not in a strike. Not in a punch.
