Next was an explosion of force that didn't seem to belong to physics.
It was like being crushed between two galaxies.
His sand-woven body struck the ground, and for the first time in thousands of years, Soilandor experienced the forbidden sensation that had become alien to him.
Pain.
It ripped through him.
It pierced him like a sword forged from pure agony.
The ground didn't accept him.
It rejected him.
Spikes of energy, shaped like divine stalagmites, surged upward through his back.
Stone twisted into strange, jagged blades of cultivated earth energy. Not a natural reaction. Not a superhero's power.
A systemic punishment.
The Earth, guided by a foreign will—Elius' system—had judged Soilandor.
And he was found unworthy.
Cracks exploded across his limbs. His joints screamed. His vision blurred.
He tried to pull away, but it was like his essence—his very soul—was pinned down.
The Earth was holding him hostage. Not out of hatred, but obedience.
