The monitoring crystals around the bed flared bright red. Alarm enchantments activated, magical sensors detecting the sudden cessation of life signs and beginning to shriek—
Elara flicked her wrist. A pulse of her own magic—controlled, precise—shorted out every crystal simultaneously. The alarms cut off mid-wail, leaving sudden, heavy silence.
The System materialized beside her, tiny face absolutely stricken with horror.
"You—" Its voice came out strangled. "You actually—"
Then it seemed to process what it was seeing more carefully. Its eyes went to the sword, still embedded in the Emperor's chest. To the angle of entry.
"You thrust into his ribcage," it said, voice shifting from horror to something almost mocking. "You were supposed to aim 'lower', where the heart actually 'is'. The ribs are higher up, they protect—you just stabbed him in the 'lung'—"
Elara's head tilted slightly. She looked at the sword's position with clinical assessment.
