The scene before him declared the scale of what he faced with brutal clarity.
His humanoid form seemed tiny and small in comparison to the three monsters arrayed against him. Grimvault towered with that wolf skull helm blazing pale fire, his blackened silver armor fused with flesh.
Vahrkosis undulated through the air with forty-seven arms grasping Axioms.
Sammarthiel spread those six wings of swords wider, thousands of blades catching light that should not have existed in this destroyed region of THE Wastes.
Behind Noah, the screams of Beowulf continued their symphony of suffering.
Alexander's work had evolved beyond simple torture. The crimson gold blood that had been flying with each manipulation now flowed with purpose rather than violence. The networks of Existential Nociceptors that Alexander had made visible, those vibrant crimson vessels spreading across Beowulf's opened chest, were being extracted with precision.
