Manon's overwhelming strength crushed the clay gods within mere minutes, his every movement precise and unrelenting. The once-pristine golden palace beneath his feet now bore deep, jagged cracks, spreading like veins across the floor, a testament to the sheer force unleashed.
Towering ancient structures that had withstood the trials of millennia now lay in shambles, their sacred walls reduced to rubble and dust.
Though triumph was his, there was no pride in his posture. Manon stood still amidst the wreckage, his golden spear gradually lowering as the fury ebbed from his limbs. His brown eyes, usually calm and resolute, shimmered with unshed sorrow. He scanned the battlefield, gaze lingering on the shattered remains of the clay gods, creatures who had once been his comrades-in-arms, now nothing more than broken statues.
