The Avatar had been locked in a brutal, earth-shattering dance with Valentina for eighteen minutes. It was a symphony of grinding tectonic plates and explosive energy, a relentless cycle of violence that had turned the training grounds into a cratered wasteland of pulverized granite and jagged obsidian.
Then, the consciousness link hummed. Rex's voice didn't enter as a sound but as a cold, absolute command vibrating in the Avatar's very marrow: 'Escalate.'
It wasn't a request for measured growth or a tactical adjustment. It was an order to unleash the beast.
There was no Rex here to worry about collateral damage, no Rex to temper the fury to protect the surroundings, and no Rex to hold back the sheer, terrifying cost of such power. The Avatar's behavioral accuracy sat at a chilling 97.3%, the precision of a perfect actor playing a god, unburdened by the human hesitation that usually kept Rex's own divinity in check.
KRA KOOOOOM!
