Kang's chest heaved, his scorpion-tail whip trembling in his grip as the High Priest's words hung in the air. The Meadow's toxic haze swirled around him, but it felt suffocating now, as if the very land rejected his defiance. His Priests faltered behind him, their venomous assaults waning under the relentless pressure of the cultists' store-bought arsenal. Gao, still coiled and defiant, hissed through clenched teeth, his serpent construct reduced to smoldering ash. The Toad, Centipede, and Leech Venom Masters exchanged uneasy glances, their forces battered and their confidence crumbling.
"You dare speak of burial, old man?" Kang spat, his voice hoarse from the lingering sting of the infernal pepper dust. "The Conclave exists to keep your power in check. To prevent you from letting your personal decisions reign over our cult! Yet, you've sold our soul for trinkets! Trinkets that you used to kill our own people!"
