The moment stretched thin, silent save for the flickering lights and the distant echoes of chaos throughout the stadium.
Don stood atop the mound of broken bodies and debris, sweat trickling down his face, mixing with the dust and blood clinging to his skin. Charles hovered just behind him, his silver wings spread wide, their metallic sheen dulled by streaks of red.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.
Then—the horde charged.
**RRAAAGGHHH!**
Hundreds of them, surging forward like a tidal wave of bodies, weapons glinting under the ruined lighting. There was no hesitation, no fear—just a mindless, unrelenting drive to kill.
Don exhaled sharply. 'Shit.'
No time to think. He launched himself off the mound, hurling his body into the charging mass.
Still airborne, Don clasped his hands together and came down with force. **BOOM!**
