The silence that followed the Pulse Rifle's discharge was deafening. The brilliant blue-white light that had momentarily blinded everyone faded, leaving behind thin plumes of smoke and a sharp scent of ozone mingled with the stench of charred organic rot. Dayat stood motionless, his breath ragged. His eyes narrowed, trying to peer through the lingering energy particles suspended in the air.
The first thing he realized was a bitter reality: Morbis was still standing.
The monster had not been annihilated. His body was shattered—vast cracks spider-webbed across the surface of his pale skin. Black lines snaked from his chest to his face. Though his physical form looked like glass ready to shatter at the slightest touch, Morbis remained. He stood tall, staring at them with hollow black eyes that somehow still flickered with consciousness.
"You..." Morbis's voice was ghastly—broken and unstable. "...You truly managed to destroy my anchor."
