A heavy and terrifying silence fell over the battlefield.
Grand Chieftain Bruga knelt in the crimson-slicked dust, his massive body trembling like a dying titan.
He tried to speak, his jaw working violently, but no articulate roar escaped his throat. Instead, dark, thick balloons of boiling, acrid blood erupted from his lips with every ragged gasp, splashing against the white stone floor.
He stared up at Sol with his eyes, bloodshot lens filled with profound, uncomprehending confusion and terror.
He could not fathom how a Layer 3 human, a creature he had dismissed as a mere pest to be stepped on, had possessed the ability to bypass his dense, essence-reinforced hide, slice through his muscles, and cleave straight into his structural ribs.
Sol didn't wait for an answer. He didn't care for a dying tyrant's final words.
With a cold, dismissive flick of his wrist, Sol unceremoniously kicked his boot off Bruga's sternum, shoving the massive twenty-foot frame backward.
THUD!
