"..."
Sakaar remained silent, his gaze cold yet contemplative, observing as the entire battlefield twisted upon itself like a dying star collapsing inward. What was once an ordered theater of war had now devolved into a vortex of chaos—an ocean of screams, flame, and shattered energy barriers colliding endlessly.
Amon, alongside his thirty elite subordinates, stood as the anchor of that chaos. Each one of them radiated pure destructive and defensive might; their tactics were brutally straightforward, like blades honed for nothing but carnage.
Yet simplicity didn't mean weakness—each of them alone could bear the burden of an entire army. Together, they were a moving catastrophe. Whenever one of them faltered, the three closest would rush to his side in a perfect triangle of protection, their coordination precise as if they shared one mind, one breath.
