"Say farewell…"
Atlas's voice bled through the air as he began to rise. His figure drifted upward, swallowed by the trembling shadows that trailed him like loyal specters.
The words were soft, yet they struck with the weight of an executioner's hammer, echoing in Orcus's ears until they felt carved into his skull.
Farewell.
The word alone carried a gravity that unsettled him. Farewell to what? Farewell to who?
"What do you mean…?" Orcus's voice trembled—not with fear, but with the strange unease of a man who felt the ground shift beneath his empire.
For once, Atlas did not smile. No mocking curve of lips, no sharp grin he wore like a crown in times of battle. His golden eyes only burned with something heavier. Older. Unforgiving.
"Say farewell to your... masterpiece," he muttered.
The air split.
Doom!
