The Open Court had established a fundamental rule of existence within this circle: 'No murder shall touch the Guardian of the Innocent.'
Every attack he launched carried the undeniable signature of murderous intent, and because of that intent, the universe itself refused to let the attack connect.
His own malice was being weaponized against him by the very air he breathed.
A cold, calculating clarity washed over Rex as the implications of the Law sank in. He couldn't fight her with anger.
He couldn't fight her with intent. To kill her was to fail by the very physics of the arena.
'Fine,' he thought, a predator's grin splitting his bloodied lips. 'If I can't be the hunter, I'll be the trap.'
He shifted his entire strategy mid-motion. He lowered his stance, his hands open instead of balled into fists.
He stopped initiating. He stopped throwing the first blow.
He stopped every magical assault that carried the unmistakable stench of assassination.
