Doom!
The sky split open.
Not with lightning, not with thunder, but with something heavier, more primal. A sound that wasn't just heard—it pressed into the bones of every citizen of Titus.
Doom! Doom!
Each impact fell like the heartbeat of an angry god, collapsing sound into silence only for the next explosion to rattle the very marrow of the mountain.
Atlas cut through the sky like a shard of judgment, sonic booms peeling the clouds into ribbons. Below, Titus quivered—giant towers of obsidian trembled, colossal market stalls rattled, and even the statues of dead kings leaned forward as though forced to bow under his arrival.
The wind he carried wasn't mere wind; it was a torrent. Dust, ash, and the faint metallic tang of sulfur clung to his trail, wrapping the kingdom in a cloak of omen. Mothers dragged their children into doorways, warriors tightened their spears, and priests muttered prayers into their sleeves.
The sky wasn't theirs anymore. It was his.
Doom!
