The realization didn't come as a lightning bolt; it came as a slow, glacial shift of tectonic plates beneath Rex's consciousness.
The thought that had been circling his mind since the first moment those infernal red lines had hemorrhaged light across Leonidas's chest finally settled heavy, freezing, and absolute.
If lust were real and could manifest as a tangible, corrupting force that could stitch flesh together and fuel a man's suicidal rage, then the old stories were not mere fables.
They were not warnings carved into stone by terrified priests or metaphors spun by scholars to frighten children. The Seven Deadly Sins were not abstract concepts; they were cosmic entities.
They were living, breathing plagues.
'Pride. Greed. Envy. Gluttony. Sloth.'
Rex's mind raced through the implications as he dodged a desperate, bone-shattering swing from Leonidas's sword.
SHHHH TING!
The blade whistled past his ear, close enough to slice through the air itself.
