Zhark didn't answer. His jaw was clenched, eyes staring ahead, lightning flickering weakly over his wrists like dying fireflies. He didn't flinch, didn't blink—but he didn't speak either.
The shame weighed on him more than the exhaustion.
For all the talk, for all his boisterous displays, he hadn't laid a finger on Elius. Not even close.
Elius turned toward Keith next, a smirk curling across his face.
"And you," he continued, "how does it feel… being hurt?"
Keith's body was motionless, as if the question didn't apply. His red-stained arm was by his side, but his expression remained unreadable. No rage. No fear. No acknowledgment. Still as stone.
Elius leaned in slightly, mock concern in his tone. "You look confused, young villain Keith. Still waiting for your immune system to catch up to reality? For your god-flesh to shrug it off? Tell me—did it sting? That first honest pain? I bet you're surprised…"
He let the question hang.
