Rage Monkey flexed dramatically. "Elite? Pfft. Labels are for mortals. I am the storm that snacks between dimensions. I sweat battlefields. My footsteps create local seismic instability. And my poop glows faintly red from residual fire mana."
Damien blinked. "That's… incredibly specific."
Rage Monkey snapped his fingers and pointed dramatically toward the sky. "Also—whoever killed me? When I find them, I will politely introduce their spine to their lungs, their lungs to their ears, and their ears to my autobiography, which is currently just one sentence: 'He came. He screamed. He exploded.'"
Rage Monkey glared at his surroundings and suddenly noticed Blackie, arms folded with elegant disdain.
Rage Monkey's confident grin faltered.
Their eyes met.
"...Mom?"
Blackie tilted her head. Then, slowly, painfully slowly, raised her hand and gave him a thumbs-down. Elegant. Precise. Emotionally catastrophic.
