He raised a hand, intent on grabbing Jarkon by the hair to mark his complete dominance.
The shield flared in protest, halting him.
Jarkon sneered through gritted teeth. "You lowlife… You can't reach me," he spat, trying to sound confident.
Maruc didn't reply.
He simply hummed—and in his hand, red energy bloomed, wrapping around his fingers like flame. Not ordinary energy—the energy of Desotye.
He reached forward again.
This time, the shield flickered, not in resistance but in surrender—devoured outright by the destructive force of Maruc's aura.
His hand closed around Jarkon's hair.
"Impossible…" Jarkon muttered, stunned.
"What's impossible, huh? Nothing is impossible in front of absolute and true power," Maruc whispered coldly. "But you... you're the one who's been blind, spouting rubbish."
And then—with brutal force—he slammed Jarkon's face into the cold, unforgiving metal floor of Tarrus Prime.
