Sol stood in the center of the glade, his silhouette etched in the fading golden light, looking down at Vurok with a cold, unwavering indifference.
"And what's with the getup?" Vurok sneered, his voice cracking slightly despite his attempts at bravado. He gestured with his bronze sword toward the matte-black Cobra hide. "Found a dead snake and decided to play dress-up? You really look like a freak you are, Sol. A crippled, pathetic freak."
Sol didn't answer. He stood perfectly still, his center of gravity low and immovable. To his enhanced, Charcoal-tinted vision, Vurok wasn't just a man; he was simply a map of vulnerabilities. He could see the frantic, uneven pulse in Vurok's neck, beating like a trapped bird. He could hear the wet, hitching rattle in Vurok's lungs and smell the acrid, sour scent of fear leaking through the man's arrogant front.
Even the slightest twitch of his thumb on the hilt of his dagger, was laid bare in high-definition.
