"….!!!" Thousands of Demons froze, their eyes wide, their claws gripping the edges of the ground, gates, and walls. Shock and disbelief rippled through the crowd.
The King —their sole protector, the singular force that had kept this terrifying creature alive against all odds— had just torn off its arm as if it were no more than a fragile, brittle leaf fluttering in the wind.
"Too soft… too soft for a Demon," Sakaar muttered under his breath, tossing the white Demon's severed arm into the air several times before hurling it far away. It spun through the air, landing with a wet thud among the stunned masses behind him, who flinched instinctively at the sight.
Then, without a flicker of hesitation, Sakaar lifted Leosar by the upper half of his neck, holding him firmly and unwavering. "If I raised a dog, it would have acknowledged my favor. If I raised a lion, it would have licked my fingers every day," he said coldly, his voice low yet dripping authority.
"Aggh...."
