Lightning still crawled along the length of Steve's sword, thin blue veins pulsing as the blade remained buried in the Griffin's chest. The current wasn't violent anymore. It didn't need to be. It was controlled, just enough to keep the body locked in place.
The Griffin's teeth were clenched so hard they creaked. His wings lay spread and useless against the cracked floor, feathers twitching uncontrollably as his muscles spasmed under the shock. His claws dug shallow furrows into the stone, more instinct than intent.
Steve looked down at him.
"Do you concede?" he asked.
The words were simple. There was no mockery in them.
For a moment, the Griffin didn't answer.
His eyes rolled slightly, unfocused at first, then slowly sharpened as he took in the scene around him. The ring of guests. The Feran generals standing rigid and silent. The Griffins watching without a single whisper passing between them. Torace Goldwing standing still as carved stone, his golden eyes unreadable.
