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The creature doesn't react to my spear lodged in its body. Doesn't waver beneath the Wrath-fueled fire Luna carved through its chest. It only looks at her, its mouthless grin stretching wider.
And then it moves, straight for her.
I don’t think.
I command.
The world bends to me as I step forward, my power snapping into place like a second skin. Pride does not beg. It does not hesitate. It does not allow.
And right now, I do not allow this thing to touch her.
"Kneel."
The word is sharp. Absolute.
The Rift buckles beneath it. The creature slams into the ground, its limbs folding, its body twitching violently, warping as it resists, but it cannot.
Because I have spoken.
Because I am Pride.
And all things lesser than me obey.
It twitches, its head jerking toward me, slow, glitching, hateful, and I know what it’s thinking. It doesn’t need a mouth to say it.
You are not the one I was sent for.
I tighten my grip, fingers curling as golden light flares bright and brutal along my arms, scorching the air around me. The Rift reacts, pushing against the weight of my magic like a living thing trying to escape.
"Look at me when I speak to you."
The thing wrenches its head up, forced by the weight of my voice, its body straining against the sheer power I’ve laced into my command. The ground beneath it cracks, the Rift trying to swallow it, as if even this place cannot withstand the pressure of my will.
"You are not welcome here."
The Rift shudders again, the air around us vibrating, resisting. Because I am forcing it to reject something that should belong to it.
And it does not like that. The creature fights, its limbs convulsing, its form flickering between shapes, faces, things that don’t belong to it. It is trying to break free of me.
Trying to resist what cannot be resisted.
"You will not stand."
Its body locks.
"You will not move."
Its limbs fold inward, unnatural, twitching, its shape glitching further, wrong and shifting.
"You will not touch her."
Luna is silent behind me. I don’t have to look to know she’s watching. And I don’t need her to see what I am.
I just need her alive.
The Rift rebels against my hold. It pulses outward, an unnatural force pressing in from all sides, like this place itself is demanding that I let go, demanding that I release what does not belong to me.
I exhale sharply, adjusting my stance. My body burns from the pressure, from the sheer weight of keeping this thing pinned beneath me.