The Beast Monarch gasped, his broken ribs moving unevenly with each breath.
Blood dripped from his lips, staining the cracked gold of his armor red.
His eyes—once fierce, arrogant—were now filled with a mixture of pain, rage, and a silent, ancient fear.
Strax's voice echoed across the field of ruins, steady and icy as a blade.
"The stronger takes the weaker." He repeated the Monarch's own words, but with contempt. "And now that you're on the wrong side of that sentence... do you realize how hollow it sounds?"
The wind blew, carrying with it the smell of blood and smoke.
Shadows still danced around Strax, the distant echo of the demonic dragon reverberating like muffled thunder.
Kali remained silent, watching—her eyes intent, assessing her husband with a mixture of pride and fearful fascination.
The Monarch, even fallen, still tried to lift his head.
His fangs were broken, part of his jaw dislocated, but he forced a beastly smile.
