What followed was a deliberate, almost theatrical barrage of cruelty.
Aaron's hand cracked across the angel's cheek once more, sharp, stinging, the sound echoing like a whip in the sudden hush.
Then he pivoted and delivered the same open-palmed slap to the fallen angel's face, the impact snapping his head sideways with a wet smack.
The humiliation landed heavier than any spell.
The entire battlefield froze. Dragon wings stilled mid-beat.
The elf's bowstring went slack.
Even the crackling embers seemed to pause, as though the universe itself recoiled from the sheer audacity.
No one moved to intervene.
No desperate rescue.
They simply watched, wide-eyed, speechless, as two ancient, near-divine beings were reduced to staggering, red-faced puppets.
"You bastard!" the fallen angel finally snarled the moment the whip loosened just enough for breath.
Spittle flecked his lips, dark blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "I'm going to kill you!!"
