It hovered in the air, a palm-sized construct of pure destructive energy, but it radiated a presence far beyond its size. The very atmosphere around the needle trembled violently, warping and shuddering as if reality itself rejected the existence of such a thing.
Violet tendrils sizzled outward like living serpents, crawling through the air and down to the battered ground below. The moment one of the tendrils kissed the stone, the earth screamed—melting into bubbling red lava in an instant before hardening to a dead black crust the next moment.
Everything in its proximity either burned or broke. Max stood completely still beneath the floating needle, feeling his hair rise, his body surrounded by the chaotic pressure of what he had just created. This wasn't just a needle. This was the embodiment of precision destruction.
