The air around Cross seemed to thrum with an unseen energy as his patience wore thin. The fight had gone on long enough. With a sudden, deliberate movement, he extended both arms outward, his fingers flexing as the sheer force of his will erupted like a silent storm.
Herakles was the first to feel it. The stocky man’s feet left the ground as though a giant hand had plucked him from the earth. He struggled, growling and swinging his fists in vain, but the unseen grip was unrelenting. Cross flung him across the room like a discarded doll, his massive frame colliding with a marble pillar, which cracked under the force.
“Graaakh!”
Emot’s reaction was more measured, but no less futile. His hands reached for his spectacles as though he could shield himself from the invisible force bearing dow
