"STOP!"
The shout came from Kriz.
He hovered unsteadily in the air, his face pale from blood loss, his missing arm still leaking faint wisps of vitality despite the emergency seals around the wound. Yet despite his battered state, his eyes were sharp and merciless, and his voice carried an authority so absolute that defying it felt akin to suicide.
Cain watched him coldly.
The kick Morningstar had delivered earlier had been brutal—but not fatal. Kriz could have returned to the battlefield long ago. Instead, he had hidden, conserving strength, waiting until the danger had passed before revealing himself. And now, after abandoning the fight and nearly dooming everyone, he still had the audacity to issue commands.
Cain did not respond directly.
Instead, a blood avatar rose slowly from the Ocean of the Blood Sun, crimson liquid coalescing into a tall, regal form. Its hollow eyes fixed on Kriz with glacial indifference.
"Explain your words," the avatar said flatly.
