The purple beacon pulsed in the gray sky, a silent, arrogant declaration. Nox stood in the center of the now-quiet plaza, the weight of over a hundred Flags a tangible presence on his back. The remaining players, a scattered collection of wounded and terrified survivors, just stared at him. Their hunger for the Flags was still there, but it was now overshadowed by a primal, instinctual fear.
Elisa walked over, her warhammer resting on her shoulder, her face split by a wide, bloodthirsty grin. "Well, that was a hell of a party. What's next on the agenda, boss?"
Mela appeared on a nearby rooftop, her needles a silent, silver halo around her. She just nodded at Nox, a new, undeniable respect in her eyes.
Serian stood beside him, her golden aura faded, her expression a mixture of awe and a deep, gnawing worry. "Nox, the beacon… everyone will come for you now. We must leave."
"Leave?" Nox let out a short, humorless laugh. "We're not going anywhere."
