Floor fractures knotted beneath his boots, only to knit shut again—as though the plane itself feared angering him by staying broken.
Dot's blue glow spasmed, flickering like a dying filament, her tiny Ikona struggling against his grip, each pulse weaker than the last as she thrashed, her light dimming under the pressure.
With every stutter, loose motes of blue splashed across his knuckles, then winked out, leaving no mark—proof of how thoroughly he owned the space she could occupy.
High above, inert viewing screens flashed brief diagnostics: COMPANION FILE DEGRADATION—73 %… 77 %… the numbers climbing with brutal indifference.
In his other hand, he held half of Elias's shattered shard, its jagged edges crackling with raw energy, the blue glow pulsing brighter in his grasp, as if drawn to his touch.
The light from that fragment painted moving bars across his torso, illuminating the red cloak‑lining in rhythmic surges that looked disturbingly like a heartbeat not his own.
