A crushing weight sank over the battlefield—like the sky had been chained in rusted iron.
Sett's gut twisted.
A pit opened beneath his ribs.
Instinct screamed.
Faceless was dangerous. There was no chance for a negotiation.
"Shit."
Sett's face was buried in the shadow of a passing cloud.
The desert became dark.
Sett held nearly 20 metric tons of force in every cell. His Tomb Slaves were beasts—many of them stronger than him. But Faceless?
He was not at that level.
Faceless didn't move. Didn't need to.
Faceless existed.
And that alone bent the surrounding air. Over a thousand tons of pressure, condensed into one figure. A Tier 4 physical body.
Stronger than all of Sett's Tomb Slaves combined.
Faceless breathed in.
Unnatural. Demonic.
That was it.
A nightmare wrapped in skin.
The true terror of this A-tier Tomb.
The slap on the face for weak Tomb Raiders arrogant enough to enter these traitorous place.
Sett tried to move. Tried to call the dead to his aid—
