The moment that body left the ground, everything seemed to slow.
Not for the others.
Not for the terrified vampires still pressed against the shattered arena floor.
But for GrandLord Dreath.
His eyes followed the motion with ease, the trajectory, the speed, the force behind the leap, all of it laid bare before him as if the attacker had chosen to present every detail willingly.
"…Hm."
The sound left his lips, calm, almost lazy.
And then—
He moved.
No grand motion.
No visible exertion.
Just a simple raise of his hand.
The first reddened vampire reached him with a roar, claws extended, blood surging violently within his body as if the act of attacking something like Dreath itself was feeding the frenzy inside him.
"RAAAAH—!"
The sound had not even fully faded when—
Smack.
A clean, simple strike.
No energy burst.
No technique.
Just the back of Dreath's hand connecting with the attacker's face.
The impact—
Was absolute.
