Vurok hung there, suspended by his own hair, his breath coming in shallow, gurgling gasps. The glade was silent, the golden hour passing into a bruised purple twilight.
Sol looked at the man's shattered face. The nose was flattened, blood leaked from both ears, and the arrogance that had once defined him was nowhere to be found.
"Is this it?" Sol asked, a dark, hollow laugh escaping his lips. "Is this the 'Elite' strength you used to brag about while you were kicking me in the dark? You are weak, too weak."
Vurok's good eye flickered open, filled with a watery, animalistic terror. He tried to speak, but only a bubbly moan escaped his ruined mouth.
"P-please... wait..." he managed to wheeze, the word barely audible, a string of bloody saliva trailing from his lip to the dirt.
But Sol didn't wait. He didn't even hesitate. He yanked his head back with a brutal, neck-straining wrench, forcing him to look up to the sky.
