Bastion's trump card had been quickly eliminated, leaving him exposed. A stunned silence enveloped him as he stared at the spot where his ultimate skill had once towered.
Just moments before, it had seemed unstoppable. Now it was gone as it was devoured and annihilated without putting up a resistance.
The psychic backlash tore through Bastion's mind. His chest was tight as if an invisible blade had pierced him. The continuous blood-burning had already ravaged his organs, and the final blow to his skill drained the last ounce of his willpower.
His sword clattered from his limp fingers, the once-gleaming metal blackened by the intensity of Cain's foxfire.
"No," he rasped with a voice barely above a whisper.