Arthur Sterling did not run anymore. He stopped dead right in the absolute center of the massive plaza.
His chest heaved up and down. Sweat dripped from his chin and stung his eyes. His pristine tailored suit was completely ruined. It was covered in grey dust, ash, and the foul smelling grime of the lower wards. His legs burned with the kind of deep muscle fatigue he had not felt since his days as a corporate liquidator on Earth.
He was entirely nerfed. His million fold multiplier was locked away behind a cosmic audit. He was running on the base stats of a mortal man.
But as he stood directly in front of the towering, humming reality-shields of the central energy grid, his pitch black eyes were cold. They were dead. They were full of absolute, undeniable victory.
He turned around slowly to face the firing squad.
