In the corridor leading up to Enzo's room, a group of monsters shuffled forward in a tight cluster, shoulders brushing, steps careful. Their gazes stayed low, fixed on the stone beneath their feet, as though even a stray glance might invite disaster. The air around them felt heavy, thick with an unspoken warning they all understood.
At the far end of the corridor, three men and two figures emerged, moving at an unhurried pace. Their expressions were calm, almost entertained, eyes sharp and steady as they took everything in. The monsters barely registered to them. Despite the jagged horns, warped limbs, and lingering scent of blood, they were insignificant.
After all, the two among them were gods.
They passed one another without a word, their paths crossing as if by accident. The Tyrant did not dare acknowledge them, fear rooting his gaze straight ahead, terror whispering of instant annihilation. His instincts screamed submission.
