Back in the Injunction Sanctuary of Law.
Noah stood amidst the chaotic currents of the battlefield, his armored form a silent, unmoving axis around which the violence spun. He did not raise his blade or cast an ability...he simply observed, his eyes flicking from one front to another with the cold, detached precision of an Emperor rearranging pieces on a board that spanned light-years.
His presence alone was a weight, an anchor of Primus Mana that stabilized the shaking reality of the Sanctuary.
Far to his left, the battle lines had shifted.
Ozymandias stood as a lone, obsidian-crimson bastion before the crumbling ranks of Deborah's Civilization Legion of Laws. Behind him, silver-skinned Living Laws trembled while before him surged a storm of violet and gray...a tidal wave of weaponized sorrow led by the weeping figure of Threnody.
The Weaver of Final Sorrows did not attack with fancy abilities. He attacked with feeling.
