Galisk sighs. "Another fool... chasing destruction in hopes of rebirth. Quietly take your delusions to your grave. I'm done listening to sanctimonious bullshit."
The skies above him ignited—runes of golden flame spiraling into complex patterns, each one a divine seal forged through war and wrath.
His mecha's chest split open, revealing a core blazing like a miniature sun, light pouring out in sacred waves that cracked the air with pressure.
The woman's shadow tendrils recoiled, hissing as if burned. Her mask tilted slightly upward, watching with intense eyes.
Galisk's mind was in hyperdrive.
'This isn't just a Title, it's that plus an Authority... It reacts, not passively defends. That "death of purpose"—it seeps into minds. Psychological warfare, not instant death. That must be her Authority, but that isn't her Title. And the damage redirection... it only triggers after a threshold is met.'
