Fear

"Is he really injured, or is he just acting?" Zynarel, the Trinarian fighter, muttered to himself. From within the safety of his subspace, he scrutinized Aron, who now hovered in plain view—battered, broken, and seemingly on the brink of death. To Zynarel, it looked almost too convenient, as though Aron was laying himself bare, ripe for the taking.

Normally, no one in Aron’s condition could possibly be suspected of having an ulterior motive. After all, no sane person would allow themselves to be injured so gravely as part of a plan, especially against an opponent wielding spatial attacks that seemed impossible to counter or even detect. But that assumption only applied to someone operating under normal logic. The man Zynarel was fighting was anything but ordinary.