The chain snapped.
It wasn't loud. It was subtle, almost like a whisper in the air. But the moment it happened, a wave of raw, oppressive power flooded the clearing. The guards froze mid-step, their weapons trembling in their hands. The elves staggered, their knees buckling as they gasped for breath.
A straightened to his full height, rolling his shoulders as the broken chains fell to the ground like discarded trinkets. The air around him shimmered, and a faint white halo appeared behind his head, glowing with a light that wasn't just bright—it was alive.
"A white halo," one of the elves muttered, their voice trembling with awe. "So, the Failed Avatar still carries the mantle of the divine."
A's grin sharpened, his aura pressing down on the crowd like an unrelenting tide. "Failed? Funny how that word keeps following me around. Tell me, does it still sting, knowing the 'failure' of humanity stands on equal footing with your god?"