"You vile scum!"
The roar split the sky.
Storm Lord's was wreathed in spiraling currents of blue-white lightning. Fury radiated from him, grief for his fallen kin twisting into unrestrained killing intent as he thrust one arm toward the heavens.
Thunder answered.
Bolts converged from every direction, weaving together into a colossal mass of crackling plasma that compressed around his clenched fist. The air screamed under the pressure, as raw celestial lightning condensed into a single, devastating technique.
"Skyfall Thunder Fist"
The spirit fist formed above him—massive, blazing like dragons desperate to escape.
Then it descended.
Sound vanished, swallowed by the overwhelming density of power as the three-cosmos strike hurtled toward the lone figure below.
Emery did not retreat.
He felt it clearly—the authority of a veteran grand elder who had stood at the peak of storm laws. Yet his eyes only burned brighter.
Excalibur rose.
