There was an impotence of fury in the layered voice that went beyond just the tone itself. It was like Earth was practically reacting to its very core.
Sylas' eyes narrowed.
Why was his world reacting so fiercely to that of someone else?
This wasn't a small matter in the slightest. He raised a foot and lightly pressed it down. Only then was Earth forcefully stabilized and the voice was abruptly cut off.
The rotating figure of black's head slowly lowered from its shout toward the skies. For the first time, it seemed to really be looking at Sylas.
Really looking at him.
There were, indeed, levels to a Progenitor, levels that Sylas had already stumbled onto.
The weakest Progenitors simply existed, grasping things as they came but not taking a truly active role.
