Khepri's golden eyes sharpened from his elevated vantage point, narrowing like chisels cutting into marble.
The battlefield, once dominated by his stone warriors and conjured weapons, had shifted in an instant, not through strategy, but through sheer force.
And he saw it all.
The moment it happened.
A burst of light and pressure detonated outward from Alex, not like an explosion—but like a god had drawn breath. Lightning didn't arc. It screamed, erupting from the boy's core like a second sun had cracked open within him. The very air fractured as mana-laced thunder snapped reality around him.
Khepri's soldiers—hundreds of stone warriors, their carved expressions eternally stoic—had surrounded the boy like a noose, blades poised, spears raised, hammers mid-swing.
They never made contact.
In one flash, they were gone.
