The telekinetic grip abruptly snapped. With a sound like shattering glass, the invisible pressure holding Veylor aloft vanished.
The spectral hero collapsed, falling limply toward the floor, landing on his knees with a wet, hollow thud. His knees hit the blood- and cum-soaked sheets beside Iris's unconscious, leaking body, but he didn't even flinch at the filth coating his skin. He simply slumped forward, his forehead nearly touching the mattress, his entire being drained of purpose.
Rex stood over him like a colossus, the Tremor mask now fully integrated into his face, casting jagged shadows across the room. The mask pulsed with a low, menacing hum, and his eyes glowed with a malevolent crimson light.
He looked down at Veylor with the casual satisfaction of a predator who had not just killed his prey but had thoroughly dismantled its soul.
"Look at you," Rex said, his voice distorted by the stone mask into something ancient and terrifying. "A broken shell..."
