The clearing still smelled faintly of blood and scorched leaves.
The Shadow Panther's corpse lay still, its once-sleek body reduced to a broken silhouette, scattered across the clearing like discarded shadows.
Thor, calm as ever, stood over it with his halberd resting against his shoulder, breath steady, his blindfold stained faintly with dust.
His traps had worked flawlessly — the beast's movements were choked, funneled, crushed until nothing remained but inevitability.
His hands still trembled—not from fear, but from the ache of battle and the rush of what he had done.
He had outwitted the beast, trapped it, faced it head-on when needed, and survived.
And hidden from sight in the sky, Agni Igris had watched everything.
Agni Igris had watched Thor's masterclass with a proud but complicated expression.
Thor was extremely talented, a genius, whose intelligence was his brightest gift.
