Somewhere, hidden in the shadows, an unfortunate villain was experiencing a full-body existential crisis.
They had been watching. Observing. Planning, even. Their hatred for the tyrannical Thorne family burned as brightly as ever, and they had long since vowed to see them fall.
They had waited patiently for the perfect moment gathering information, building connections, sharpening their strategy.
And yet, as they stood there, watching the aftermath of what had just unfolded in the ruined training grounds, they could only think one thing:
"What. The actual. Hell."
A five-year-old.
Had just casually obliterated a basilisk.
Not merely defeated no, no. That would have been survivable. Expected, even.
But obliterated an entire combat arena destroyed beyond recognition.
The massive, armored serpent reduced to a pile of vaguely regretful scales.
And the worst part? No one seemed surprised.
