Toric’s snarled in disgust at the sight of the man at his feet, now sobbing and clinging to his pant leg like a child. Not because the man was bargaining for his own life, hell, that was even reasonable, but because this bloated, cowardly parasite, had actually believed Toric could be bought. It was downright insulting that he thought a seat at the table might mean something to someone who had spent nearly every able hour of his life tearing the table down.

It was cruel to let the groveling carry on when the decision had already been made. And though Toric did not feel anything but disdain for this man, he did not relish in the sight of someone’s fear. He raised his rifle.

“Your reign’s over.”

The Castellan raised a trembling hand, his eyes welling up with fat tears. 

“Please—!”

“We’ve had enough.”

The rifle didn’t bargain. The sharp, ear ringing impact blew a hole just below the ribs that painted the wall red. The Castellan jolted, and his mouth opened one final time in a silent wail before his body finally dropped cold. 

Toric lowered his rifle slowly, crossing the office floor with uncaring boots. Footprints left perfect sole patterns across the polished floor.  He opened the terrace doors and stepped out and onto the Castellan’s private balcony. Wind kicked up and pulled at his scarf, obscuring his sharp jawline. Black grainy ash drifted from somewhere below from the growing bonfires. Toric looked out over his unit and saw them working like an orderly machine. They wasted no time fIling civilians into lines for medical care and erecting tents for their new command stations. Something stirred in his chest at the sight of it. A victory. Minimal losses. He felt a stab of pride in his chest and without hesitation, he shot his fist up, tightly clenching it above his head in victory.

Below, with their victory now confirmed, the plaza ignited into a sea of thousands of voices cheering and whooping all at once. Toric looked down at them, as tiny as ants from his vantage point, and let a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth. His heart swelling with a heart-wrenching relief.

On the balconies below, blood colored Bloodsparrow flags unfurled from the outcroppings of windows. Rebel red was everywhere, and the victorious chanting cracked over the air with a steady rhythm. A few pockets of laughter filtered through, in some silent corners, soft relieved cries. The people below showing their appreciation in a myriad of different ways. 

The Castellan was finally dead, and the city was now firmly in the hands of the Bloodsparrows. Toric had almost forgotten the inciting chaos from before that had all but assured their victory. 

Overhead, the man still watched and waited. Hanging above the storm like gravity had made a personal agreement not to bother him. His pale eyes were still watching everything in a fervorous intensity.

For a moment, Toric felt as if he was merely imagining the shape of him, his adrenaline addled mind suggesting that his outline was in fact a mirage. A floating man that could disable dozens of well-outfitted soldiers with the flick of his wrist couldn't possibly be real… But as the clouds moved across the sky to reveal the bloody red sun, they revealed the same mirage cutting a sharp silhouette in front of it. Around his outline was painted a blazing golden ring, illuminating his body like a holy saint. Indeed, he was still there lingering, watching every movement with the precise intensity of a hawk, yet not interfering with it’s outcome. As if this whole setup was some kind of test

The glow that had been burning around his hands had faded, but there was still something inexplicable warping the air around him. Like a faint hum of energy just beneath his skin, ready to snap again if provoked.

Toric felt it again, the alien weight of that gaze. When he finally looked up to get a better look at the man, their eyes locked instantaneously. Just a soft flick. Toric felt his stomach do a flip-flop from the attention.

The way Vox had singled him out felt odd. Not Kael, or his men, or the mass of people still whispering the man’s own name like a hymn. Those thunderous pale eyes bore through him as if he’d seen something in him, specifically. Perhaps it was something they both shared, or even something he wanted yet to understand.

Toric felt his mouth go dry before he managed to tear his eyes away. He wasn’t sure why that gaze made him nervous, but it did. His jaw clenched tightly in response, the muscle flexing like a bounced rope. 

The man watching above wasn’t a god, but he wasn’t merely a man either. Metahumans were beings that existed in the space between. And their origins where just as unknown. 

Vox specifically possessed an unflinching stillness that felt more like the presence of an arachnid than a human being. Perhaps thats why his gaze was so hard to stomach. A curious, cold stare that felt as if this man was weighing Toric’s soul without his permission. 

From his vantage point in the clouds, Vox had watched the way Toric easily and strategically dismantled the building’s defenses, taking out men in his easy without guilt and tearing through their reinforcements with east. There was no hesitation in him, just a raw magnetic charisma that drew men to follow him without question or doubt.

He could be useful, Vox thought. He is strong, and human. And being human was ideal. Mortals always made more convincing prophets than gods did.

Toric was the kind of man who didn't need to believe in anything himself to make everyone else believe in him.

The wind coiled through the architectural folds of his white tunic, and Vox remained a silent onlooker. He had no need for heroes, he needed no one. Yet, there was something about Toric that haunted him. There was no subservience in him. No fear or worship.

When Toric had turned to look up at the sky at his nonconsensual ally, he glared back like he’d merely been interrupted.

That was something interesting. That feeling in Vox was... new.

For Toric, his soul had spent a lifetime trapped behind a locked door, his motives and desires buried so deep no one could reach them. Least of all himself.  Even still, with one silent glance, Vox’s gaze had felt as if it had stripped him bare. 

Toric wasn’t sure he liked the feeling of it.

Vox hovered just long enough to be undeniable, making sure Toric truly saw him. Then, without any undo fanfare, he turned and disappeared into the bloody clouds with an ethereal grace. The plaza roared on unperturbed, the crowd drunk on a victory they still thought was their own, completely oblivious to his exit.

But Toric had noticed. 

And the echo of eyes that had lingered and prodded stayed with him long after he’d disappeared into the atmosphere. A meeting he was sure would be impossible to forget.