Pinned to the blood-soaked ash, the King of Belrath didn't struggle. The crushing grip on his throat made it impossible to breathe, let alone cast, but it wasn't just physical defeat that paralyzed him. It was a profound, world-shattering incomprehension.
He looked up into the dead, apathetic eyes of the man who had just erased his vanguard, butchered his heir, and broken the mind of a reanimated legend with nothing but his mere presence.
"Why... why do you exist?" the King choked out, a thin trail of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. His voice was a pathetic, broken wheeze. "What are you... to the carnage?"
Lexel did not answer with a grand monologue. He didn't boast of his S-Rank power or explain the intricate mechanics of the brand on his neck.
Instead, a slow, chilling smirk curled across Lexel's face. He leaned down, bringing his face mere inches from the King's ear, and lowered his voice into a whisper meant for the dying monarch alone.
"—"
