Orson's eyes glinted with a cold, lethal light.
Relics of a bygone era now served as lapdogs to the gods. It was only a matter of time before he and the Grey Watchers crossed blades.
He had no qualms about butchering the watchdogs.
Let the blood spill—it was time to clean house.
As for Xinala's claim that he was a puppet of BlazeKing, Orson couldn't care less. If anything, he owed his current power to BlazeKing.
If that ancient mastermind hadn't set this all in motion, he and Sienna would have been torn apart long ago.
BlazeKing wanted him to pick up the mantle and exact vengeance upon the pantheons—and Orson knew it.
But that didn't mean he resented it.
BlazeKing was using him?
Then he'd use BlazeKing in return.
If the terms were right, if the stakes were worth it—what did it matter who was pulling whose strings?
The Crimson Lizard King sensed the fury boiling in Orson's blood. With a flap of her wings, she soared toward Golden City, slicing the sky like a crimson blade.
