The atmosphere inside Maui's private tent was heavy with the lingering scent of blood from the gate and the distant murmurs of restless warriors. Outside, the Mangler stood with his crew, still armed, still furious, but no longer slaughtering anyone. The moment the words "a goblin named Byung" left Maui's mouth, something inside the Mangler had snapped. His face twisted with pure disbelief and rage. A goblin. A creature so small, so traditionally weak, had somehow risen to a position that even Kragg — a true orc of strength and bloodline — had never fully claimed. The idea alone was an insult to everything the Mangler believed in.
Yet he did not charge. He did not order his men to continue the bloodshed. He simply stood there, axe resting against his shoulder, breathing hard through his nose like a beast barely restrained. Maui watched him carefully from the entrance of her tent. That restraint was telling.
