Tony Clark stood perfectly still amidst the rubble, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his dark hunting cloak with his standard, lazy posture fully intact.
The massive Crimson Shadow Griffin sat right beside his leather boots, its deep-purple galaxy eyes blinking with an unnatural, serene relaxation as the dust settled over the broken bodies of the Vance elders. The absolute siege was completely over; every single hidden root of his regional enemies had been systematically slaughtered and crushed into absolute sand in less than three seconds.
Right at that exact millisecond, before the kneeling, trembling Vance Patriarch could even attempt to beg for his pathetic life, a familiar, cold, and mechanical notification violently vibrated inside Tony's sea of consciousness.
