The next time Atticus opened his eyes, the world was a blend of purple, crimson, and black. The colors divided reality before him, as though his eyes carried three distinct authorities.
He was weightless, slowly ascending. A pillar of blazing light surrounded him. He was back in reality, Atticus realized. The world around him was frozen. Every soul was still.
Ahead, only Attimax's trembling eyes remained fixed on him. Asmerion still held him, Atticus realized. Parts of the Primordial's attire had been torn apart, and blood oozed from his body. His escape had not been subtle, and Asmerion had clearly paid for it.
Only Asmerion could move at the speed Atticus currently operated in. The others were a few eons late.
"H-how…? I planned for everything… Every possibility…"
Asmerion was muttering under his breath, but Atticus didn't care.
Words could not change what was coming.
