Sol came to a sudden halt at the edge of the blood circle he had just carved out, the Dreadwing blade held out to his side, dripping with thick, dark gore.
A heavy, suffocating silence descended once more, infinitely colder than before.
The remaining Coalition warriors… who hadn't joined the shout… stood frozen. Their faces were pale as sheets, their bodies shaking hard.
Sol slowly turned his visor back toward the crowd.
"What about you guys?" Sol asked casually, tilting his head. "Anyone else feeling particularly proud today?"
The crowd flinched as one.
Near the front row, a Zerith warrior stood rigid, eyes locked on the shredded remains of the powerhouses lying only a few feet away. His throat worked as he swallowed hard.
Just then, the severed head of a Marauder … still wearing an expression of fanatical rage… rolled across the blood-slicked stone and came to a stop against the Zerith's feet.
The warrior flinched violently.
