The air was thick with tension as Stark stood beneath the colossal angel, the massive spear glowing ominously in its grasp.
At any moment, if Stark felt like it, he could order it to throw the spear, killing every single one of them.
Everyone had been frozen, unsure of their next move, weighing their options carefully.
Stark's crimson aura radiated outwards, making it hard for anyone to look directly at him without feeling overwhelmed.
The Mayor was the first to move, his calculating eyes darting between the angel, Stark, and the other participants.
"Your bluff won't hold forever, Chosen," the Mayor growled, stepping forward. "Someone will call it. Someone always does."
"And yet," Stark replied calmly, his voice carrying across the battlefield, "none of you have yet."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
No one wanted to make the first move.
No one could, or else it would be instant death.
