Rex extended his right hand, palm upward. The gesture was almost tender, a mockery of comfort offered to a dying man.
His fingers didn't twitch; they remained perfectly still, suspended in the charged, blood-soaked air of the crater.
Theo stared at that hand. His vision was a fractured mosaic of crimson tears and golden sparks.
His mind was a screaming void, a cacophony of agony that refused to subside. 'Why is he doing this?'
'Why isn't it over?' Theo thought, his consciousness flickering like a candle in a hurricane. 'I can't feel my legs.'
'I can't feel my ribs.'
'I can't even feel my own god anymore.'
'Kaeleth... where are you? Why is it so cold?'
The silence between them was heavier than the gravity Rex had been wielding. It was the silence of a predator waiting for its prey to finally accept its fate.
