The war was over.
The skies, once torn open by screams and fire, now fell into a strained silence. Craters smoldered where titanic weapons had struck. Twisted metal littered the land. Skadi warships, once proud behemoths of the stars, now lay broken and scrapped like fallen leviathans.
Igaris stood at the center of it all, his cloak fluttering amidst the ash-filled wind. Blood dripped from the edge of his sword, steam rising where it touched the scorched earth. His body bore wounds, some still knitting together through sheer will and regenerative force, but his eyes... his eyes were calm.
Cold.
Unforgiving.
The last of the Annihilation Red Team lay dead, their mythic presences erased from existence. No resurrection. No second chances.
A group of battered Skadi soldiers fell to their knees before him, trembling, their weapons discarded in a desperate plea for mercy.
But Igaris did not speak.
He did not forgive.
