As the crimson, blinding light of the exploded sun receded, the Supremes came into view. Barriers of various types shimmered over each of them as they shielded themselves from the Ninth Supreme's attack.
The First Supreme remained seated, along with the Third, Fourth, and Seventh Supremes.
Their gazes turned toward Crimson Mitchelle, whose flowing crimson hair danced with the rhythm of the wind. The strands caught flecks of light, rippling like fire given form, like war given grace.
From the clearing, the Second Supreme emerged, untouched. His body was pristine, unmarred by the devastation that had just occurred.
"You've made your point, Fifth, Eighth, and Ninth Supreme Monarchs," the First Supreme spoke, his golden-ringed eyes glowing with a soft, yet commanding, brightness.
Mitchelle's gaze shifted calmly to the First Supreme as she replied, "Should I attack your own son just to get my point across, oh First Supreme?"
